Beautiful Illusion
by Honeydrops
Summary: What would you do if the person you fell in love with wasn't who you thought they were? While under the guise of a polyjuicetype potion, Harry must make Draco fall in love with him, and he will find out the answer to just that.
1. Prologue

**PROLOGUE**

**_---_  
**

"_What would you say  
If I can't play the hero tonight?"_

**_--- _**

There was no way that he could refuse. Those dazzling cerulean eyes staring penetratingly at him from across the desk were so full of confidence and light, safe in the knowledge that Harry would do the right thing, make the selfless decision, put the needs of others ahead of his own. To extinguish that light would be brutal.

Dumbledore must have known that he would do it. He was a safe bet, of course he was. After all, this was Harry Potter, The Boy Who Would Always Do The Right Thing.

Dumbledore would never know just how close Harry came to refusing him at that moment. It was perhaps the hardest decision Harry had ever made in his life, but at the same time, that decision had already been made for him. What he was being asked to do went against everything he had been taught to value and cherish; honesty, trust, loyalty...and love.

_How could he do this to me? How could he put me in this position? Haven't I done enough already?_

Thoughts such as these swirled around Harry's head, filling his brain with such tumultuous chaos that he couldn't distinguish the truth from the distortion.

_Haven't I done enough already? _

But he knew that he would never have "done enough." There would always be one more task, one more hurdle that he would have to overcome in order to reach that elusive goal of finally having "done enough." Never mind that he had already fought through, and survived, more encounters with Voldemort than any other witch or wizard alive; never mind that he was the one who had brought Cedric to his death at Voldemort's hands, and had to try and comprehend that fact every day of his life; never mind that he was the one who had to live with the knowledge that he had to either die, or become a murderer to live.

As the cerulean eyes in front of him became a blur, these bitter musings turned to a recollection of the events that had transpired in order for Harry to be sitting here now, pondering a question that he already knew the only answer to.

_**---**_

Life at Privet Drive was never what you could call riveting. It wasn't even remotely interesting. But Harry had to admit that this summer, life at his relative's house had hit new levels of monotony.

The letters that he had received from Ron and Hermione were cheerful and full of news, but they were obviously holding back, trying not to let on how much fun they were having. He appreciated the thought, but good as their intentions were, their letters only served to increase his sense of inadequacy. Didn't they think that he could handle the fact that they were a happy couple having a fun vacation together while he wasted away in Privet Drive? That wasn't to say that he wasn't absolutely delighted for his two friends. _It's about time you two got your act together;_ he recalled thinking when they broke the news to him, flushed and happy, just before the holidays had started. He just wished that they would be more honest with him and not constantly try to make him feel as though they would be having much more fun if he was there. He knew this wasn't true; holidays had only started two weeks ago, and they were so smitten with each other that he knew they appreciated the time alone together.

Sitting at his windowsill, looking out at the black bitumen road, with its lines of brilliant white in the middle, Harry admitted to himself that he really wasn't sure how he was going to survive this summer without going crazy.

A distant speck of darkness in the otherwise clear azure sky drew Harry's attention away from the road. As it drew closer, he could make out the familiar shape of a handsome tawny owl.

_What could a school owl be coming to me for? _he wondered. It was far too early for the normal start of year letters and Hagrid was on vacation with Madame Maxime, so he wouldn't be using a school owl. Grinning to himself, he wondered where those two were spending their summer break. He could just picture the attention that they would draw to themselves at a normal holiday destination. The owl startled him out of these thoughts as it alighted on Harry's windowsill with a soft flutter of feathers, bringing with it the smell of mice and bird droppings. Untying the creamy parchment joined to the bird's leg, the mystery of who was writing to Harry was soon solved. The thin, elegant writing used to pen the address could only belong to one person.

_Why would Professor Dumbledore be writing to me? _He pondered this puzzling question as the parchment unfurled in his fingers, revealing a brief letter penned in the Headmaster's familiar script.

_**Dear Harry,**_

_**I trust that you are safe and well.**_ (_You know I am_, thought Harry. It's not as though you haven't had Order members keeping an eye on me 24/7). _**I am sorry to intrude upon your vacation, but I must beg a little of your valuable time. If it is agreeable to you, I will arrive shortly at your Uncle's house to transport you to Hogwarts for a brief discussion in my office. I do not think that I need to tell you that this meeting is to be kept in the utmost confidentiality, Harry. I am awaiting your reply.**_

_**Professor Dumbledore.**_

_Well, that's weird, _thought Harry. A discussion in his office, just a few weeks after summer break had begun? That sounded ominous, to say the least. Somewhat apprehensively, Harry grabbed a fresh piece of parchment off his desk and scrawled _"OK. See you soon, Harry."_ He then tied the parchment onto the owl's waiting brown leg and watched it fly off into the distance, until it was but a speck on the horizon.

Albus Dumbledore smiled as he turned the corner onto Privet Drive. The smile did not reach his eyes. The ever-present twinkle in his cerulean gaze was gone, to be replaced by a look of mild concern. He did not want this for Harry; he could never want this for Harry. He knew that what he was about to ask him to do would be almost impossible for the boy to comprehend. However, it had to be done. There were too many lives at stake, and Albus knew that Harry was the only one who could complete this mission.

Sighing, he walked smartly up to the Dursleys' front door and rapped quickly on it, twice.

"So, Professor, what did you want to talk to me about?" Harry's eager and slightly puzzled tone of voice drew a sigh from the elderly man. They had just entered his office after apparating from Privet Drive. Fortunately for both of them, the Dursleys had been out. Dumbledore, ever prepared, had produced a note from his pocket (presumably informing the Dursleys of their nephew's safety and whereabouts) and left it on the spotless kitchen bench. Then they had departed for Dumbledore's office. Harry, being too young to apparate, had held onto the Headmaster's arm and shut his eyes against the unpleasant sensation of being squeezed until he thought he would burst. Needless to say, it had been a relief for Harry to finally reach the comfort of Dumbledore's plush office chairs.

"Please, Harry, be seated." Harry sat down, his feeling of apprehension suddenly increasing tenfold at Dumbledore's grave tone. What could he possibly have done to warrant a meeting in the middle of his vacation? He didn't recall breaking any (major) rules before the holidays and he had been extremely well behaved so far during his break, considering that he had only left the solitude of his room to eat and go to the bathroom.

"Sir, if you don't mind me asking why are we having this meeting here? I mean, wouldn't it have been, er, easier, to have this talk somewhere...more convenient?"

"Ah, Harry, it is of the utmost importance that this talk be held in privacy. I could not risk being overheard and frankly, I feel that here is where we are most likely to be able to have this conversation without being overheard by unwanted ears." Here Dumbledore settled back into his chair and surveyed Harry through his trademark half-moon glasses. Harry thought that he detected a ray of...could it be sympathy? from those bright eyes as they locked gazes with his own.

"It was not my wish to ever have a conversation like this with you, Harry. The last thing that I would want is to add to your already heavy burden in life. I regret that you have to hear this, but I can only hope that you will listen objectively to what I have to say, and clearly consider what I am going to ask you before giving me an answer. Do you understand, Harry?"

"I...I think so, sir." The hesitant reply elicited another look from those piercing eyes.

"What I am about to say may be hard for you to hear."

"It's alright sir, I can handle it." _Whatever __**it **__is_, thought Harry. He was growing slightly impatient with Dumbledore's uncharacteristic beating around the bush.

"You understand that we have had members of the Order tracking most of Voldemort's inner circle for quite some time now. Recently, I received intelligence that he and his Death Eaters are planning an attack. This attack will be unlike the others that they have conducted in the past, for the reason that their aim is not to kill, or capture. It is to control. You may be thinking at this point "Voldemort already has the Imperius curse, what else does he need to control others?" Up until recently, you would have been correct in making that assumption. However, and for all of our sakes I hope that I am mistaken, it is my belief that Voldemort has almost succeeded in creating a potion that will aid him in this goal. This potion is terrible for many reasons, Harry. It achieves mindless control, and leaves the body as a lifeless shell, with no purpose or spirit once the victim has outworn their usefulness. And do you know how it does this, Harry? It feeds on every happy, positive thought, feeling and memory within the victim and uses these to manipulate the victim. It is, in essence, a form of torture that has no cure. The more the victim tries to fight, the stronger the power and control of the potion."

"But...but sir, that sounds like...like what the Dementors do?" Harry's insides were turning to ice at the very thought.

"Exceptionally astute, as always, Harry. I believe that that is indeed where Voldemort got the idea from."

"That sounds horrible, sir, but I'm afraid that I still don't quite understand why you're telling me all of this."

"Ahhh." At Harry's words the wise, wrinkled old face appeared to crumple slightly. "We come to the part of our little chat that I have been dreading. The reason that I am telling you all of this, Harry, is because it is my hope that you can be an integral part of stopping this mindless torture of innocent people. Without your help, the consequences if the potion is allowed to be completed could be disastrous, not just for our world, but for the Muggle world as well."

Feeling incredibly nervous and inadequate at this moment, Harry tugged at his collar and felt drops of cold, glistening sweat on his neck. How could Dumbledore expect him, a fifteen-year-old boy, to counteract the devious and meticulous plans of the most Evil wizard the world had ever seen?

As if reading his mind, Dumbledore continued in his monologue.

"You may be thinking to yourself at this point "What could I possibly do to stop this?" Well, Harry, the answer to that is, very much indeed. More than anybody else could, in fact. I am not to be outdone by Voldemort in the art of inventing new potions, and Professor Snape has kindly assisted me in perfecting one that I do believe will be most helpful to our cause."

At this point, Dumbledore withdrew a small bottle of reddish-brown liquid from a drawer in his desk.

"Polyjuice Potion?" Harry exclaimed incredulously. What possible use could _Polyjuice Potion_have in defying Voldemort's nefarious plans?

"This is not Polyjuice Potion, Harry, but it is indeed very similar. One dose of this potion will enable the drinker to inhabit an entirely new identity for up to 6 days without another dose. So you see, unlike Polyjuice Potion, the drinker does not steal, for want of a better word, the identity of another living human being, but creates an entirely new one. You will find that this tends to eliminate that exasperating dependence on another person to maintain the façade. This potion, Harry, is the key to unraveling Lord Voldemort's plans."

"I...I'm afraid that I still don't quite understand what I have to do with all this, sir." Harry's confusion was growing by the minute, as was his annoyance at Dumbledore's apparent ambiguity as to his role.

"You, Harry, are going to deliver us information that is at the moment unattainable. Lucius Malfoy's name has cropped up in several briefings about this potion and it would appear that he is aware of the potion's whereabouts and components. It would also seem that he has revealed much, if not all, of this information to his son, Draco. You may wonder why he would entrust such invaluable information to a boy of fifteen, and you would be right to do so. I am of the opinion that Voldemort is testing Draco's loyalty. He would not believe that Draco would reveal the information to just anyone and would be reasonably confident that even if he did, he would not be telling anyone who was not already aware of the goings-on. However, I do believe that in making these assumptions, he has misjudged Draco's character. This is where you come in, Harry."

Here Dumbledore paused for a few moments, as if to collect his thoughts.

"The Malfoys take their summer vacation at a ski resort in New Zealand each year. Draco is left to his own devices and normally spends his time skiing and exploring the local scenery on his own. It will be your job to befriend him, gain his trust and then have him share what knowledge he has of the potion to you. You will of course be doing all of this under the disguise of the potion Professor Snape and I have developed. Not only is there apparently far too much enmity and dislike between you two for any sort of trust to be fostered without it, it is also impossible that you could complete this task as Harry Potter. The _least_ of your troubles would be if Lucius cursed you on sight."

"No, you will undertake this task under a new identity. You will be a wealthy English boy who is taking summer vacation with his Uncle. I cannot stress how important it is that nobody, and I repeat, **nobody**, finds out about this plan. The consequences are too terrible to think of if we are found out. Now, there is just one final little problem, Harry. Young as Draco is, he is not to be taken lightly. I do not believe for a second that he would betray his Father's confidence to just anyone. He has not even told his closest friends. Therefore it would seem highly unlikely that he would reveal his secrets to you, even if you did succeed in becoming close, trusting friends. No, Harry, for this mission to succeed, I believe that you must make Draco trust you so implicitly and believe so strongly that you alone can help him for him to entrust you with the information. In other words, nothing short of him falling in love with you will be sufficient to procure the information we need."

At this sentence, all time seemed to slow and stop as Harry's mind began reeling with a discordant whirl of thoughts and feelings. Amidst the confusion, a pale, sneering face blossomed into his mind, staring at Hermione with a cold hatred as his lips formed the word "mudblood." Then that chilling gaze was fixed upon Ron, taunting him about his family and the financial woes that Ron so proudly tried to hide. How could he befriend, much less try to seduce, such a despicable creature as Draco Malfoy? How could he betray his friends and everything that he would like to think he stood for, for a person like him?

Suddenly, the image of Draco faded and changed, and Harry saw countless people under the influence of the potion. Weak, defeated, with no control over what they were doing. He saw the terror and despair in their eyes as they were forced to do Voldemort's bidding and the cloudy ice that seemed to creep up into their eyes and destroy all sparks of life within them. It was then that he knew he could not refuse. He never would have.

As he opened his mouth to give his answer, a new thought occurred to him, so blindingly obvious that Harry was stunned that it hadn't occurred to him earlier.

"Professor, Draco's a boy. I'm a boy. So I don't see how..." Harry trailed off, his emerald stare fixed upon Dumbledore's wise, lined face. The sad, solemn stare and the slight twist of his upper lip gave Harry the answer.

"Oh." How could he never have seen it before? He supposed that it was obvious, now that he thought about it. The abnormal obsession with his appearance, the girlish tendencies, the lack of dating, it was all so clear now that Harry actually thought about it. A few seconds passed in tense silence before Dumbledore spoke again.

"Well, Harry? I know that what I am asking of you may seem impossible. But, please, tell me that you'll try?"

_Can I make Draco fall in love with me? Can I lie to everyone, including myself, to help protect others?_

He could. He would.

"I will.

_**--- **_

_** This is my first attempt at writing fanfiction, I hope you'll enjoy it. Please take the time to review, it's greatly appreciated.  
**_


	2. Chapter 01

**Chapter 01 - Entanglement**

"_Once when I was flying past the steeple  
the bells were ringing in my ears  
and I was counting the broken-hearted people  
and I was following their tears  
I am not sinking in the sadness  
I am not throwing bitter stones  
I do not worry who will mind me  
I am not dancing alone_

_But_ _you, who do you think I am?"_

The hiss of ice melting under his skis as he slid down the powdery white mountainside was one of Draco Malfoy's favourite sounds. The tang of danger he felt as his lithe body twisted and manoeuvred its way down the snowy slope, coupled with the most incredible sense of power sent adrenaline coursing through his veins, bringing a rosy flush to his otherwise pallid face. A single error in judgment or the slightest imbalance would send him tumbling down the mountain, quite probably shattering every bone in his body in the process. But the fragility of his position just made Draco feel even more alive.

The icy mountain wind whipped through his shimmering white-blonde hair, mussing it so that you wouldn't know it was the same perfectly coiffed head all who knew Draco were accustomed to. Normally he would be appalled at his dishevelled state; but while he was skiing he couldn't care less.

The bitter wind stung his face and burned his lips as he sliced down the mountain, but it didn't bother him. He preferred to ski without the protection of a hood; it was so much more thrilling and natural this way.

Draco wound his way effortlessly down the ridge, marvelling at the ease with which his skies cut through the tightly-packed snow. _It's almost like magic, _he thought, and smiled. This genuine expression of pleasure was indeed a rare occurrence, mainly for the reason that Draco rarely felt that he had anything to smile about. More often than not, his delicate facial features were twisted into a malicious sneer, warping his naturally pleasing face into a canvas of cruelty.

When his face was distorted that way, as it so often was, his looks were entirely his father's; from the chilling silver gaze to the thin, curling upper lip. But when his face was relaxed and happy, as it was at this rare moment, he was the spitting image of his mother. The silver eyes thawed and became full of golden warmth; his flaxen hair gently framed his face and his smiling lips were flushed and full. To see him in this rare moment of pure, untainted happiness was to witness a thing of true, fleeting beauty.

Twisting his skis expertly, he glided to a halt, sending a shower of glistening ice chips up into the air in the process. He watched them fall and melt once more into the brilliant white ground, blending into the snowy powder effortlessly.

A snowflake drifted idly down from a puff of creamy cloud, catching the light as it descended from the heavens and creating rainbow fragments of brilliance. It idled for a few moments directly in Draco's line of vision. Looking through the snowflake every colour was heightened, each shape was pure and clear. Then the snowflake continued down towards the ground and the illusion was broken.

Gazing around at the landscape, Draco marvelled at how beautiful the world could be. He had a great appreciation of beautiful things; he considered himself to be one of them. To look upon something of beauty made Draco happy and as far as he was concerned that was an amazing thing indeed.

The New Zealand scenery was picturesque during June. The pristine snowfields glimmered and shone in the gentle sunshine; the skiers carving their way along the slopes seemed like bright, glowing jewels from where Draco was standing. Drawing in a deep breath, he let his lungs fill with brisk, clean air. _This,_ he thought, _was living_. This was right. When he was skiing, he was free. At that moment Draco felt completely contented and at peace with the world.

He couldn't recall feeling this way for over a year; ever since the start of another school year with Harry Potter, in fact.

_Potter. _Just the thought of him made Draco's blood boil; sending hot currents of blood flooding into his capillaries and replacing that rosy winter flush with the scorching heat of hatred. Suddenly the scenery didn't seem so breathtaking any more; suddenly his skis were just strips of metal attached to his feet; not instruments on which he could fly, fly far away from everything that he wished to leave behind. And what of the snow, the delicate, melting, ever-changing snow, whose fragile beauty had so bewitched him just moments earlier? It was just white powder. The magic was gone and the moment was lost.

_Damn the stupid sod_. Now he had to go ruining Draco's moment of tranquillity, even though he was undoubtedly thousands of miles away. _Probably at the Weasel's house, _Draco thought, his lips curling into the smirk which transformed his face from beautiful to chilling, i_f you could even call it a house. More like an outsize pigsty. _Still smirking, Draco glanced back up the ridge that he had just skied down. He could, of course, magic his way back up the twinkling white crest, but where was the fun in that? Using magic in a place as pure and untouched at this mountainside seemed wrong somehow, as if to use it would be to besmirch the area and upset the delicate balance of nature.

Drinking in the scenery one last time Draco began curving his way along a meandering slope, heading back to the lodge the long way.

At the very moment that Draco was savouring his skiing adrenaline rush, Harry was experiencing one of a different kind. Anxiety coursed through his veins, more of it being pumped through his body every second by his rapidly beating heart. He couldn't recall ever being this nervous, not even when he was facing Voldemort.

_That's messed up, _he thought. What more could he possibly have to fear from Draco Malfoy than from the wizard who had terrorized the Wizarding World and destroyed innumerable lives?

He knew the answer to that question. While Voldemort was indeed a terrible entity and one he dreaded facing, he knew what to expect from each encounter. Nothing Voldemort could do would ever surprise him; there were no depths of evil that he could sink to that he hadn't plumbed already.

Draco however was a different story. Whereas Voldemort affected Harry on a distant, albeit terrifying level, Draco affected Harry on a much deeper, more personal basis. Draco could get under Harry's skin like no other. He never knew quite what Draco would say or do next and that confused him.

Confusion was the one emotion that Harry was utterly incapable of dealing with.

Hatred he could handle. Sadness, he'd dealt with enough of in his life to know how to overcome the feeling. Grief left him reeling at first, but eventually the memories of those he had lost would inspire him to become a better and stronger person. Love, he had never truly experienced. But confusion left him an utter wreck; unable to see what path he should take or how to resolve the situation.

Confusion blinded him, made him unsure of what he was truly feeling. Harry had always relied heavily on his instinct to guide him through life, but when Draco Malfoy was around even that seemed to desert him, leaving him feeling utterly powerless.

At times, Draco seemed to act almost like a human being. Harry had observed him on occasion laughing with his fellow Slytherins, or offering a reassuring smile to new members of his Quidditch team before their first game. At times like those, Harry thought that he detected a flicker of golden light in Draco's eyes, illuminating his face and entirely transforming his features.

That was why on the other, far more frequent occasions when Harry witnessed Draco's callousness and bitter tongue, it left him feeling baffled and disappointed. He knew that he should be used to them, seeing as Harry himself was the primary victim of Draco's verbal and physical assaults, but he wasn't. During incidents such as these, he noticed that Draco's eyes seemed to be made of silvery ice, with no trace of human emotion in their depths.

Having seen quite enough of the more undesirable side of Draco to last anyone a lifetime, Harry should be certain that he was a despicable character, worthy of little thought and attention, but he didn't feel that way. He spent much of his free time mulling over his latest confrontation with Draco, or thinking about the way his eyes changed when he was acting like a normal human being. In fact, Draco was the main reason for Harry's ever more frequent mood swings. Whenever Ron or Hermione asked Harry what was troubling him, he would reply with the customary "nothing." He knew that they didn't believe him, but their feelings of hurt and confusion as to why he seemingly didn't trust them were far better than admitting the real reason he was troubled. Because contrary to what he had said and thought in Dumbledore's office, deep down Harry didn't believe that Draco was a monster incapable of change. He didn't believe it for one second, he never had. And that was what confused him most of all.

No, confusion was one emotion Harry would rather do without. And this "mission", or whatever Dumbledore wanted to call it, was sure to leave him more confused than he had ever been in his life.

_Lean forward._ _Glide, don't waddle. Stay focused. Don't fall and crash to your death. _

Harry's brain was buzzing a mile a minute as he hurtled down the mild slope, trying desperately to retain his balance.

_Why is this so hard? It should be easier, dammit! _

Frustration boiled up inside Harry as his usually superb balance failed him once again and his body crashed hard into the firm, icy snow for what felt like the millionth time.

His muscles burned as he struggled to stand. After a few fruitless moments, Harry realised that the end of one of his skis had somehow wedged its way into the snow, twisting his ankle at an awkwardly in the process. Digging one of his ski poles into the ground, Harry used the extra leverage to hoist himself up and out of his frosty trap. Wincing at the sharp, thrumming pain in his ankle he waddled his way back towards the canteen.

This new body really wasn't working out for him. If he had been inside his own skin, he knew that he would have picked skiing up as easily as he had Quidditch. His natural balance was faultless and his body was firm, toned and supple, perfect for sports such as this.

His new, decidedly more aristocratic body was undeniably less suited to physical activity. The muscles were flaccid from disuse, the hands soft and the reflexes nowhere near as sharp as Harry was accustomed to.

All of this made skiing hell. Dumbledore had insisted that Harry become at least moderately competent on the beginner slopes before attempting to befriend Malfoy. After all, a wealthy English boy who couldn't ski was simply unheard of and would be sure to raise eyebrows and suspicions. And he wouldn't want that now, would he?

Harry couldn't help feeling resentful towards Dumbledore for putting him in this position. Apart from there being absolutely no chance of Harry succeeding, as far as he saw it, now he had also lost the physical qualities that made him special. Up until now, he had unintentionally taken for granted his enviable agility and general physical prowess.

_I definitely won't be taking them for granted anymore, _he mused sullenly. How could he be expected to charm and wheedle information out of Draco when he couldn't help falling over his feet every three minutes?

It wasn't that he wasn't trying to learn. It wasn't that he secretly wanted to stay on these slopes forever if that was what it took to stay away from Draco and all the confusion and pain and those eyes, those eyes that pierced right through to the very core of him. No, none of that had any part of it. At least that was what Harry told himself. And if you didn't admit the truth to yourself, who could you ever be honest with?

Cursing softly under his breath, Harry made his way to the counter.

"How can I help you, sir?" The woman's cheery smile only served to irritate Harry further.

"Hot chocolate, please." The upper class, refined tone of his new voice still startled Harry. It was so wrong for that voice to be coming out of that body. None of this was him and it was confusing the hell out of him. Harry couldn't stand confusion.

_I just want this whole thing to be a nightmare, _he pleaded in his head. _I'll wake up and Ron will be there and we'll go down to breakfast with Hermione and have Transfiguration and Potions class and everything will be back to normal._ It was a mark of how uncomfortable the situation was for him that he was actually thinking wistfully of attending Potions class. Harry had never understood the "subtle art of potion making", as Professor Snape liked to describe it. Potions also happened to be Malfoy's favourite subject, another reason for his dislike of it.

"There you go, sir. That's €1.50, thank you."

The lady's voice startled him out of his thoughts and Harry handed over the money and made his way over to a comfortable looking chair in the corner of the room. It still astounded him that the Malfoys actually spent their vacation at a Muggle skiing resort. For a family who put such importance in so-called "pure" blood, it was certainly odd that they spent their leisure time at a lodge run by the people they despised most of all.

He had to admit, though, the chairs were very comfortable.

Gazing around at the luxurious décor, Harry's eyes flicked back to the woman at the canteen. She must have felt his eyes upon her, for she turned around and flashed him another smile. It was then that he realised something. When he had first gone up to order, her eyes hadn't raked his hairline, hadn't widened in recognition. She didn't have a clue who he was, which meant that she wasn't just smiling at him because he was famous, because she felt she had to, because he was Harry Potter.

This new knowledge spread a warm, happy feeling all over his body. Maybe this wasn't such a bad idea after all.

_Maybe this wasn't such a bad idea after all. _

Draco's gaze swept the scene, from the small children sliding around in their colourful skiwear to the instructors lazily threading their way through the amateurs, instructing their charges with practised politeness in their voices.

He had decided on a whim to abandon his usual solitary trails on the wild mountainside for the day and grace the beginner's slope with his presence. For all he loved the unspoiled beauty and peace those trails offered him, he just didn't feel as inclined to spend another day in beautiful solitude as he normally would be.

After all, the beginner's slope was not without its merits. Who wouldn't enjoy flashing their skills around those with inferior ones and seeing the envy and admiration light up their eyes? Draco Malfoy enjoyed feeling powerful and superior, and just because he was on vacation did not mean that he wasn't going to utilise every possible opportunity to feel this way.

Gracefully wending his way along the slopes (although they hardly qualified as slopes in his mind, more like slight lumps in the otherwise unnaturally flat ground) he snickered quietly at the dismal efforts of the beginner's class in front of him. The small group were learning the basics of skiing and were wobbling down one of the milder lumps. A teenage girl was emitting high-pitched squeaks of terror as she progressed downwards, although Draco's shrewd eyes observed her staring appreciatively up and down the body of the tanned instructor as he made his way over to help her. He couldn't blame her; the man _was_ very good looking.

A piercing shriek cut through the air at that moment as the smallest person in the group, a young girl of perhaps eight, fell backwards and smashed into the snow. As her cries of genuine pain rang out over the area, Draco felt a pang of sympathy for the girl. Unkind as he could be, it pained Draco to see others hurting. Skiing over, he helped her to her feet.

"Are you alright?" This query was spoken unusually gently, the mellowness of his tone startling even him.

"Mummy!" The girl's cry for her mother brought Draco back to his senses, albeit leaving him feeling slightly wounded at the apparent fear he inspired in the child.

_What was I thinking, helping up a common little mudblood like that? Next thing I know, I'll be rivalling Potter for do-gooder of the year. _

Draco snickered at his joke and feeling much more like himself again, looked around for his next source of amusement. A group of teenagers clustered nervously at the top of a moderate rise seemed promising. Watching as the one at the fore of the group began to ski clumsily down the slope, he smirked to himself.

_Time to flaunt my skills._

Wrapping his gloved fingers around the rope pull (_what ridiculous contraptions Muggles invent to aid their laziness_, he sneered) Draco allowed himself to be pulled to the top of the rise. It was a ridiculously small slope, even for beginners, but that didn't mean he couldn't still give these novices a taste of what **real **skiers could do.

Lithely slipping through to the front of the small crowd, Draco glanced coolly, appraisingly over the group, not wasting any time lingering over faces. If he had, perhaps things would have been different.

There are times when a lingering gaze, a turn of the head, a slight flush, a catching of breath can change your life forever. Those nuances can split destiny into countless winding paths, each one spellbinding, beautiful and different from the next. Each movement can create a rainbow castle of your wildest hopes and dreams then send it shattering to your feet the next.

If Draco had paused for just one more moment to actually **see **the faces of those people who he was looking at with such aloof disdain, maybe he would have fled from the snowfield and spent the rest of his holiday in his family's cabin, just to avoid those eyes and all he saw in them. But he didn't see them, not at that moment at least. And when he did, common sense overrode instinct, burying the truth beneath what was far more convenient to believe.

As it was, Draco stood elegantly at the fore of the group. Then, with seemingly effortless poise and grace he moved smoothly forwards and began slicing his way down the rise.

He was liquid beauty to watch. To compare the smooth, supple movements of his body to the awkward, faltering movements of the other skiers would be an insult to the intelligence of both. The beginner's mouths simultaneously dropped open in silent awe as he curved cleanly to the left, then swerved silkily to the right.

All except one was entranced by this display of prowess. The eyes of that one person burned with such fire that you could almost feel the heat radiating out of him, threatening to melt the freezing ice into broiling water. So intense was the stare that the boy didn't notice his skis sliding slowly forward until it was too late.

As he began to slide uncontrollably down the hill, he reached fruitlessly for his ski poles or anything that could stop his slippery descent. Rapidly gaining momentum, he began to shoot wildly down towards Draco, now desperately trying to control his movements but failing miserably. The frigid wind burned the tender skin on his face, staining it red raw as he continued his slippery descent. A strangled, inarticulate yelp escaped from his lips and it was that which made Draco, who had just slid calmly to a halt after a perfect run down the hill, finally turn around.

Shock was the only emotion evident in Draco's features as he saw the flailing mass dashing towards him.

With a sickening crack, Harry slammed into Draco and they were both forced backwards in a tangled mass of bodies and skis. The power of their collision was great, and Harry flew into a backwards somersault, Draco rolling along with him. As they landed in a knotted heap, all Draco could feel was pain. Searing, blinding pain, so much so that he couldn't think as he lay on the unforgiving ground, the other boy on top of him. The boy was radiating intense heat and Draco felt as if that heat was burning right to the very core of him. His skin on fire, he struggled weakly to free himself, which only served to create an excruciating pain in his muscles.

It was then that the boy turned his head and locked gazes with Draco. The layer of surprise and pain that was now flickering in those eyes was not enough to suppress the blazing fire that still flared in them. As they stared at each other time seemed to stand still, just for a fraction of a second.

Draco had seen that fire before, countless times. Whether it was scorching him from across the Quidditch pitch or the Great Hall, it always inspired the same reaction. Nothing else could produce such an intense surge of feeling in Draco, as if he was simultaneously burning and freezing, wildly happy but thunderously angry, surrounded by so many faces and yet so alone; no other person could provoke such emotions as he was feeling now.

He spat the question out, it couldn't be true, there was just no way.

"Potter?"

The slight widening of the boy's eyes was all that Draco saw before his body gave up the struggle to stay conscious and succumbed to the pain. His eyes closed, and the achingly bright landscape faded from his vision, to be replaced by cool, soothing darkness.

_"Is it winter where you are  
try to find me if you can_

_When it's over it's never over  
And when it's empty it's never gone_

_But you, who do you think I am  
Yes_ _you, who do you say I am?"_

**A/N: The lyrics in this chapter are from 'Who Do You Think I Am?' by Sinead Lohan. Reviews are greatly appreciated! **


	3. Chapter 02

**CHAPTER 02 – Colours **

_"Calling out, calling out  
Haven't you wondered  
Why I'm always alone  
When you're in my dreams? _

_  
Calling out, calling out  
Haven't you wondered  
Why you're finding it hard  
Just looking at me?" _

**---  
**

Green. The colour of grass, spring, nature. The symbol of balance, harmony and growth.

Draco had always loved the colour green. He loved to lie on soft, green grass and watch the world float by. He loved to wear green Slytherin robes and feel them rustle silkily against his skin. His mother always wore a jade necklace around her neck, and Draco loved to watch its emerald surface sparkle and sway with her movements. Green was fresh, soothing, peaceful, safe.

Potter's eyes were green. His green was fiery, volatile, flashing, brilliant. His green could leave you breathless with one scorching gaze. His green was the opposite of everything Draco liked about his favourite colour. It was that green which had finally shocked Draco's wounded body into blissful unconsciousness.

As he dreamt, he relived the sensation of falling, rolling in a backwards somersault towards the ground. The collision had left Draco unbalanced, dizzy and hurting, but the thrill he felt as the world twisted around him in a sea of colour, as everything turned upside down, as he defied gravity to fly through the air, made his pain almost worth it. Almost.

Wincing, his eyelids flickered and shut. The cool blackness he normally experienced when his eyes were closed had been replaced by green; the indescribable green of Potter's gaze. His heartbeat rose and colour returned to his cheeks. _I'm going to get that bastard. _

With an enormous effort, he rolled over and opened his eyes, steeling himself to meet the scorn those emerald pools would offer him.

Brown. The colour of dirt, dead leaves, autumn. The symbol of earth, order and convention.

The eyes scrutinizing him anxiously from across the room were undeniably, unremarkably brown. Draco had never liked brown. It reminded him of dull, bleak autumns and the ending of life. Plants wilted, turned brown and decomposed into a fine brown powder to be blown away on the colourless breeze. Brown was the antithesis of live-giving green.

Come to think of it, what had made him so sure that the boy's eyes were green in the first place?

Staring closely at the boy smiling nervously at him, he drank in his appearance with typical Malfoy fastidiousness. He had light brown hair, which lay soft and flat above an unremarkable face. Brown eyes, a light dusting of freckles, an average nose, large ears and a full, pink mouth completed his features. His body was petite and his hands were aristocratic, just like Draco's. Upon observing his hands, Draco's attitude towards the boy thawed slightly.

_He knows what it's like. The unattainable expectations, always having to live up to the family name, always having to be fucking perfect. _

His gaze returned to the boy's eyes, peaceful and soft as they observed Draco's every movement. There was no trace of the fire that had stirred such emotion inside him on the slope now.

_Could I have been mistaken? _

What a ridiculous thought! Draco banished it immediately. A Malfoy was never mistaken. Draco **knew **that the person he had seen on the slope was Potter.

But what would Potter be doing here, on **his **family vacation? Unless the sod had stepped up his Make-Malfoy's-Life-Miserable campaign, there was really no reason for him to be here. Potter disliked Draco's company as much as Draco disliked his, so there had to be another reason.

_Of course! The plan. _

Potter must have disguised himself to try and get Draco to reveal what he knew about the upcoming attack.

But how could they know? Even the most minor details had been revealed only to the most elite amongst Voldemort's ranks, himself being the exception, of course. These loyal followers would die before revealing a breath of information, of that Draco was certain. He himself hadn't let slip a word. Was there a chance that the boy sitting opposite him really was just a (terrible) skier on vacation? Had his obsession with Potter finally reached new heights?

_Bloody Potter, screwing with my head like this. Now I'm seeing him everywhere I go._

He made up his mind to watch this new boy closely. As he ran his eyes over the boy's face once more, he couldn't help the pang of disappointment he felt. For all that he had feared to see that green gaze, now that he had brown, it seemed so unexciting.

The boy was staring at him with eyes filled almost pathetically with worry. For some strange reason, Draco took pity on him.

_It's about time I put him out of his misery. _

Stretching gracefully, Draco spoke.

"You can put your anxious little mind at ease, I'm awake."

**--- **

The ticking of the clock was really starting to get on Harry's nerves. _Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Tick, tock. _

It was bad enough that he had almost definitely blown the mission by crashing headlong into Malfoy on the slopes and nearly gotten them both killed. It was bad enough that his nerves were already frayed and his body aching from his injuries. Worst of all, he was sure that Malfoy had recognized him.

_Potter? _

Malfoy's pale eyes, wide with shock and disbelief, bored into his brain, as he replayed the scene over and over again. There had been no mistaking the word, or the tone it was spoken him.

Malfoy had recognized him.

He kept his eyes trained on the pale boy reclining on the bed, observing him closely for any signs of returning consciousness. It worried him that Draco was taking so long to wake up.

_What am I going to say to him?_ _Hi, your arch enemy here! Just thought I'd drop in and see how your vacation's going. _

That was really going to go down well.

The sudden flickering of Draco's eyelids sent his heartbeat through the roof.

_What am I going to say?_

With bated breath, he watched as Malfoy lazily opened one eye, then the other. He saw him wince and close them again, appearing to brace himself for something, then turn his face slowly, so painfully slowly, towards Harry. He braced himself for the flicker of recognition and the scathing words that would follow. He could almost hear them now.

_Polyjuice Potion, Potter? My, my, Dumbledore really must be running out of ideas. Frankly, I expected more from him. _

Harry watched as Draco's eyes widened slightly for a split second, before his faced returned to its usual impassive mask. Struggling to keep his own face in a similar neutral expression, Harry settled for scrutinising Malfoy's hair. It really was very blonde.

_It's unnatural, really. Must come from being inbred for so many generations. _

He nearly laughed at this mental joke, but caught himself in time. It wouldn't help to give Malfoy the impression that he was mad, as well as a shocking skier.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see Malfoy examining him closely. He couldn't help feeling awkward with that silvery stare coolly sweeping him up and down, and to his intense embarrassment realized that he was blushing. The silence was unbearable; with the only sound that infernal ticking of the clock. Could there be a chance that Malfoy hadn't recognized him on the slopes, and his mind was playing tricks on him?

_Say something, anything, just say something! _

He mentally struggled to come up with a suitably innocuous greeting sentence, one that would create a favourable impression, yet not strike Malfoy as familiar. After over four years of trading insults as a form of greeting, it was understandably hard for Harry to think of anything normal, yet alone civil, to say.

In typical Malfoy fashion, Draco solved his dilemma for him.

"You can put your anxious little mind at ease, I'm awake."

Once again, Harry had to fight to keep himself from laughing. Trust Malfoy to be unbothered by common courtesy. He, however, would have to be more polite.

"Thank goodness, I was getting worried. I'm so sorry about before, I don't know what happened! I'm actually quite a good skier."

The almost imperceptible raise of Draco's right eyebrow communicated his disbelief of Harry's blatant lie, as did his words.

"You say you are an accomplished skier, yet you were enrolled in the novice class?" he queried, his raised eyebrow becoming more pronounced as the sentence went on.

"Er, yes, well, you see, it's been a few years since we last came here so I, er, thought it would be best to have a refresher course."

"I see." Malfoy's tone indicated that he was amused.

Harry couldn't believe what he was hearing. He was sitting in a room, with Malfoy, _Malfoy, _for crying out loud, and they were having a polite, if not overly friendly, conversation.

_I must have been mistaken about him recognizing me. Maybe, for once, something's going right for me. _

Draco continued on. "Who is this 'we' you mention? Are you here with your family?"

For a fleeting second, a mental image of the Dursley's flashed through Harry's mind and he loathed himself for it.

**"**Er, yes, sort of. I'm here with my uncle. He's the only family I've got."

Harry thought that Malfoy's jaw tightened slightly at his words, but his next remark was as cordial as ever.

"How delightful for you. I suppose he'll be wondering where you are?"

"What? I told him I was heading over to the slopes, why would he be wondering where I am?"

Harry was confused. He hated being confused.

"Obviously you have been too caught up in worry over me to notice that it is pitch black outside." The remark was spoken in a voice as coolly neutral as ever, but Harry thought he detected a slight sparkle in Malfoy's eye.

"Oh." Warm blood was rushing into his cheeks once again. How could he have been so observant of the slightest change in Malfoy's condition, but fail to notice that it was no longer day, but night?

He remembered being carried off the slope in a muggle snow ambulance, Malfoy alongside him, before falling unconscious. He remembered waking up in this cosy, well-lit room and seeing Malfoy lying on a flat white bed across the room. He remembered thinking, _how the hell does that bastard manage to look graceful even when he's knocked out? _(his own recent problems with gracefulness were fresh in his mind) and settling down to wait for Malfoy to wake up.

He must have sat there for hours, just watching him. A slight mumble or shake of his head would make Harry's heart jump, then revert back to its normal rhythm once Malfoy sank back into unconsciousness.

During all that time, he hadn't even noticed that the sky had changed from blue to black.

_How embarrassing. He must really think I'm a nutter now. _

Draco's light tones once again saved him from having to break his embarrassed silence.

"Oh indeed. A mistake anyone could make, I'm sure. In any case, your uncle must be frantic with worry over you. You'd better go and reassure him that you are alive and well."

_Is Malfoy…smiling? _

Indeed, he was smiling. This strange newcomer had tickled his fancy with his adorably naïve ways.

Alarmed at the prospect of his first encounter with Malfoy ending so suddenly, Harry hastened to reassure him.

"My uncle won't be worried. I often wander off for hours on end, just to spend time by myself. He's used to me disappearing, and he knows I always come back in the end."

No matter how they were intended, the words struck a chord with both boys. For Harry, they were true. He often wandered off from the Dursleys for hours at a time, usually to the park or some quiet, open space where he could be alone. He knew that his uncle and aunt wouldn't be worried, or even care about where he was, and it was true that he always did come back. After all, where else would he go? Those times when he could drink in the evening breeze and watch the clouds drift unhurriedly across the sky above him were times he treasured. Times he **used **to treasure, that is. Once the Order had set up 24-hour patrol in Privet Drive, his "me-time" had officially ended.

For Draco, the words resonated in the part of him that resented the rigid control his father had over his life. He couldn't imagine how furious his father would be if he suddenly disappeared, then reappeared hours later. He knew that if he ever did that, the punishment would be terrible, and the guilt-trip he would be submitted to, even worse.

_Your mother had been worrying herself sick over you, Draco. You know that she hasn't been well and this kind of stress is the last thing she needs! How could you be so selfish and irresponsible? It seems like you are only concerned about yourself lately, instead of considering what is in the best interests of this family. _

He shuddered slightly at the imaginary lecture, as real and terrifying as if his father had been standing right beside him.

Harry saw this shudder and felt a pang of sympathy at the look of distress on Malfoy's face.

"Are you alright?" He was surprised to hear real concern in his voice, and put it down to the stress of the day.

"What?" Malfoy's vague response echoed Harry's of just a few moments earlier. He seemed to mentally shake himself, however, and his next words were as light-hearted as ever.

"Oh yes, I'm perfectly fine, for someone who was just recently bowled over by a human avalanche." His cheery smile didn't quite seem to reach his eyes, which were still clouded and distant.

Harry decided to ignore this, and proceed with the conversation, which was actually the most civil one he and Malfoy had ever participated in.

_Of course, he doesn't know who I am. That's obviously why we seem to be getting along ok. _

"I really am sorry about before, you know. Honestly, it was an accident."

Draco smiled inwardly at the boy's seemingly genuine repentance,

"It's fine, it's fine. I suppose I deserve it for entering the domain of skiers with skills so evidently far below my own. It was only to be expected that one of you would eventually lose what little balance you had managed to gain." He smiled once again, and this time it did reach his eyes.

For a moment, Harry thought he saw a flicker of amber light in Malfoy's pale eyes, but the next moment it was gone.

_That's the last thing I need, my eyes playing tricks on me. _

He cracked a grin, and hit back.

"Don't flatter yourself. In a few days, I'll be skiing better than you ever could. I just need to get my rhythm back."

A raised eyebrow and a reply:

"You wish. To have skills like mine on the slopes requires an inborn talent and grace that only very few of us are blessed with. You, I am afraid, are not one of those people. I, obviously, am."

"You keep on thinking that. Tomorrow I'll show you just what someone with real natural skill, like me, can do against someone with skill born out of years of expensive skiing lessons…" Here Harry coughed; a noise that sounded suspiciously like "You!"

Draco was silent for a few moments, and Harry was worried that he'd offended him.

_Bloody hell, I've stuffed it all up, just when it was finally going well. _

"I was just kidding, you know. I'm sure you're really talented and all that…"

At this, Draco looked up, with a gleam in his eye that both thrilled and terrified Harry at the same time.

"You think you have the skills to beat me? Prove it. Meet me tomorrow on the mountainside and we will see just who can back up the bravado (here he emitted a cough that sounded suspiciously like "Me!") and who is all talk and no walk (here he released another cough, which sounded remarkably like "You!")."

"Oh really? You're on." Harry had always loved a challenge, and this upcoming "ski-off" would be just like every other time he had challenged Malfoy, and won.

_Just another Quidditch match, except this time it's on snow and skis. _

The fact that he couldn't really ski never once crossed his mind. Harry had been accused of arrogance many times in his life, but those accusations were unfair. If there was anything he suffered from, it was a determination to prove himself, no matter what the cost. He may have a new identity, but he was still just as keen to show Malfoy that he was someone to reckon with as he had ever been.

_I'll beat him, and earn his respect at the same time. Then I'll be closer to getting that information and getting away from Malfoy. _

"It's settled then. 7:30 am sharp, tomorrow." Harry wasn't happy with Malfoy setting the time and place, but realized that he was the one who had to work to impress Malfoy, not the other way around, and agreed.

Draco's slim figure was almost at the door before he turned around and spoke once more.

"I just realized that I never introduced myself. How impolite of me. I am Draco Malfoy, and you are?"

Harry took a few seconds to remember the name Dumbledore had given him in his office yesterday. It seemed like such a long time ago.

"I'm Charles Fayreweather, but everyone calls me Charlie. Pleased to meet you." Here Harry politely extended his hand and waited for Draco to shake it.

Draco stared at the extended hand for just a fraction longer than was necessary, with a hard look in his eyes. As Harry had revealed his name, Draco had seen a brilliant green glimmer in his eyes. He put it down to a trick of the light, but that green flash, along with the extended hand, was enough to make Draco remember that time, so long ago, when a raven haired, green eyed boy had refused his hand, creating a wound that continued to fester up until this very day.

Eventually, he took Harry's hand and shook it coolly, distantly, just as a Malfoy should. To look at him, you never would have guessed that the touch had sent sparks running through his body like electricity, leaving him feeling strangely winded. He chose to ignore this sensation, just as a Malfoy should.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Charlie. I have a feeling that this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

The light-hearted quip made them both smile.

**--- **

That night, Draco tossed and turned; his dreams vivid and colourful. Swirls of green, brown, silver and gold shone before his eyes, mixing together into a strange blend of colour. The end result was unusual; fascinating and strangely beautiful. As he stared, transfixed, his earlier words echoed around him. _Beginning of a beautiful friendship…beautiful friendship. _

Little did Draco realize that it wasn't just going to be a beautiful friendship. It was going to be so much more.

**--- **

"_Falling out, falling out  
Have you ever wondered  
If this was ever more  
Than a crazy idea? _

_  
Falling out, falling out  
Have you ever wondered  
What we could've been  
If you'd only let me in?" _

**---**

** A/N: The lyrics in this chapter are from 'Wrong Impression' by Natalie Imbruglia. Thank you so much to those who have reviewed so far, please leave me a note to let me know what you think! **


	4. Chapter 03

**CHAPTER 03 – Dreams and Deliberations**

**--- **

"_Why do you look so familiar?  
I could swear that I have seen your face before  
I think I like that you seem sincere  
I think I'd like to get to know you  
a little bit more__."_

_--- _

Harry had never slept well. Ever since he could remember, his dreams had been plagued with visions of terror, death and pain. The screams of innocent people and the pain on their faces were shocking enough, but their cries for help that he knew he could not answer were far worse. Being a helpless bystander when others so obviously needed him was abhorrent to Harry. Yet, he relived this horror almost every night in his sleep.

That is, if he even got to sleep in the first place. It is interesting how nature provides us with so many in-built curiosities that we cannot understand, yet the most important one of all, sleep, had forever remained a source of pain to Harry. He spent most of his nights in a semi-lucid state, quickly rousing himself when he began to hear the screaming, and see the faces materializing before his eyes. Perhaps his bizarre form of insomnia had been his own personal form of defence against the nightmares that so haunted his dreaming hours. The lack of sleep had never really affected him; he had become accustomed to it, as we all become accustomed to circumstances that we cannot change.

Tonight, however, Harry was tired. The adrenaline rush of his collision with Draco, followed by the anxiety prior to his waking up, and finally the erratic, confusing jumble of emotions their "first" conversation had brought out in him had combined to leave him feeling more exhausted than he could ever remember feeling.

After parting ways with Draco, he had stumbled back to his cabin and collapsed upon the bed, his over-stimulated brain demanding proper, refreshing rest. Unable to fight any longer, he had given in and opened himself up to once again face the demons of his dreams. His tired eyes had closed, and his body relaxed. As he drifted off, he released a soft, sweet sigh, not the sound you would expect from a hero, but the sound of a boy.

So he had begun to dream, for the first time in many months.

_All he could see was snow. Thick, icy snow was falling all around him, sprinkling his body with little jabs of ice that he really shouldn't have been able to feel through his thick snow gear. It quickly rose to his knees, his navel, his armpits, his neck, until it covered his entire body. Smothered, he tried to claw his way out but the snow was far too heavy to move, and he was bone-achingly weary. It would be so nice to just stop struggling, and wait for the hazy blackness that was beginning to fog his vision to envelop him. Just when he felt as though his lungs would burst, a hand reached through the white and pulled him up and out into the beautiful, cold world. Breathing in deep lungfuls of bracing air, Harry turned to face his rescuer. The snow fell softly around him now, effortlessly pretty as it danced carelessly through the air. He turned a full 360__o, __searching desperately through the dancing veil, but there was no one there. Once again, he was alone._

At this point, Harry's brain sank into a deeper, more restful state of unconsciousness and he feel into the deep, refreshing sleep that he hadn't realized he so badly needed.

When you have the weight of the world on your shoulders, sometimes you need a good night's sleep.

---

The wintry sunlight filtering through the glass skipped cheerfully over Draco's sleeping face, too weak to warm him, but giving its best shot. The restless beams of light pierced through Draco's awakening consciousness, and brought him back from his baffling dreams of the night before. What had he been dreaming about? All he could remember was brilliant colour, and a strange but incredible feeling that still lingered in him even now. Draco was unused to pleasant dreams and this new sensation of waking up happy felt really, really good.

Cracking a smile, he stretched and opened his eyes. The opulent yet tasteful furnishings of his room greeted him. Everything in here, from the plush carpet and the peppermint satin sheets to the marble fireplace screamed "Wealth! Power! Importance!" These three things were, coincidentally, what Draco most craved. Or so he thought.

His still-drowsy mind drifted back to the meeting of yesterday, and the unfamiliar emotions that the boy had stirred up inside him. He couldn't remember feeling this unsettled, on-edge, or excited around anyone except Potter.

_He's not Potter! _

Draco's constant comparison of the new boy to Potter was beginning to become a source of great annoyance to him. Potter and his antics already filled up the vast majority of Draco's schooling life, so why did he have to go and start obsessing about him now, on his vacation? There was absolutely no reason for this kind of paranoia, he reasoned.

_Except for his eyes._

"Screw his bloody eyes! They're brown, for Merlin's sake."

Draco was usually extremely competent at disguising his emotions, and this uncharacteristic outburst unsettled him further. He attempted to reason with himself, and focus on this new boy instead of Harry-Sodding-Potter.

Now, what was his name? Draco thought it was Charlie, but he told himself that he couldn't be sure. It was easier to pretend that the earlier conversation between the two of them was of little significance to Draco, rather than admit the fact that he could remember every word, every nuance of the dialogue as clearly as if it was taking place now.

Charlie was an aristocrat, obviously. You had only to look at him to recognize the aristocratic facial structure, only had to hear his voice to identify the upper crust accent. Yet he didn't act like someone of that stature at all. He seemed anxious, and eager to please, traits that a true aristocrat, such as himself, would never display openly.

_He wasn't that eager to please, if I recall correctly._

The boy, Charlie, had actually had the nerve to challenge him, Draco Malfoy, to a ski-off. Draco couldn't help the smirk that came across his face when he remembered the boy's ungainly stance on his skis and the look of pure terror evident on his face as he slid down the very mild slope. Only an absolute beginner would be _that_scared sliding down a slope that size. Still, the challenge had been offered and Draco was certainly not one to refuse it. The question of **why**Charlie would challenge someone of such evidently superior skill was far more intriguing to Draco than any other aspect of the boy. There was something about him, a quiet self-belief and fire that made Draco feel more than slightly uneasy. Well, if he was that determined to make a fool of himself, who was Draco to stop him?

_There really is one born every minute._

Draco decided that he was confident that he would win, and easily. Why wouldn't he be? Charlie was obviously a complete novice when it came to skiing, no match for someone of Draco's skill. And if, **when**, he won, he was going to want a reward. Oh yes, for after all, what was the use of competition when there was no reward for the winner?

Draco's well-developed imagination was already running scenarios through his head, each more appealing than the last. He slipped lightly off the bed in one fluid motion and headed for the bathroom. He could feel it in every inch of his body. Today was going to be a **very** good day.

---

_The small, dark room would not have been the least imposing under normal circumstances. The shadowy, colourless stone walls were crumbling slightly, as if tiring under the weight of the building. The empty fireplace was stained with black ash marks scattered across its once-white surface, the stacked logs charred and blackened. An ancient, moulding sofa that looked as if it would disintegrate at the lightest touch sat in front of the fireplace, on top of a threadbare rug which had most likely been placed there to counter the chill of the stone floor. At this moment in time, however, every shadow seemed darkly menacing, every breath as bitter as death. The malevolent, unnatural tones echoing off the stone walls increased this aura tenfold._

"_Do I make myself understood? I cannot allow any margin for error, no matter how slight. I believe that you understand the consequences if anything untoward were to occur?"_

"_Certainly, I understand them, Master. However, I cannot help but wonder if Draco is the right person for this mission. He is young; there are many useful functions that he could perform amongst our ranks…"_

"_You dare to question me, Lucius? You should be honoured that I have chosen Draco to be the one that finally reveals to the world the consequences of attempting to resist Lord Voldemort! I have heard whispers that my name does not command the fear it once used to...and now you, who I once considered to be amongst my most loyal followers, are questioning my authority." _

"_I meant no impertinence, my Lord. I just assumed that somebody older, with less potential use…"_

"_You assume NOTHING, Lucius! My decision is final. Draco shall be the one. Dumbledore and his foolish, bleeding-heart followers will rue the day they crossed me."_

_The room and its chilling atmosphere slowly faded away, but the madness he saw in those terrible, red eyes remained._

A slick sheen of sweat coating his glacial features, Lucius drew in a sharp breath and opened his eyes. His heart was hammering wildly in his chest, which was unusual in itself, as he prided himself on remaining poised and in control in Voldemort's presence. Once he had convinced himself that he was, indeed, alone, Lucius settled back into the luxurious sheets with a sigh. That particular meeting had occurred months ago, and it puzzled him as to why he should dream of it now. After pondering this for a few brief moments, Lucius cast the thought aside. Dreams were immaterial. It was actions in real life that mattered.

Speaking of actions, Lucius was beginning to question his own involvement in his Master's latest and most horrific scheme. At the start, it had all been about power. The way Lucius saw it, the world revolved around Power. You either possessed it, or craved it. Underneath his impenetrable exterior, Lucius knew that he was weak, and hiding this weakness behind the Malfoy name had no longer been enough to satisfy his feelings of inferiority. He was one of those people who craved power, and that was something that the Dark Lord could offer him.

He had been only too happy to serve the powerful wizard, and his reliable, detached obedience had led to his rapid rise up through the Death Eater's ranks. During this time Lucius had noticed his Master becoming further unhinged and more obsessive in his plans to conquer the Wizarding World. Lucius was nothing if not observant, and he had seen the madness creeping into the Dark Lord's eyes, consuming him from within. Lucius wasn't stupid, and he realised that the insanity would eventually destroy his Master, which left him in an undesirable situation. The Malfoy name carried with it an image of prestige, power and control. The demise of the Dark Lord whilst he remained amongst his ranks would destroy this image, perhaps irreparably. That was not something that he was prepared to let happen, yet he could see no way out. There were no shades of grey in the Dark Lord's eyes and Lucius knew that desertion would see him and his family killed, perhaps not immediately, but eventually.

The honour of the family name may have been the most important factor for him to consider, but self-preservation was undoubtedly a very close second. Desertion, therefore, was not an option. He had still been contemplating a solution to the conundrum when the situation changed, and everything suddenly became far worse. When his Master had first presented him with the details of his most recent power-scheme, the shock waves that had coursed through his body had been debilitating, although he had, of course, presented no outward sign of emotion.

A potion that harnessed the power of the Dementors would be powerful; there was no question of that. To be able to command any person in the world would be a greatly desirable outcome for the Dark Lord. It would not, however, be desirable for Lucius. A world under the Dark Lord's control would be a world with nobody left to look up to him, to cower in his presence, to speak the word 'Malfoy' in hushed tones of admiration. This was not an acceptable outcome, yet he could see no possible way to stop his now-insane Master's plan from coming to fruition.

Then he had been informed of Draco's role in all of this. Contrary to what the majority of the wizarding world may have thought, Lucius loved his son. He was careful never to show this, as he knew that the time would come when he would no longer be in Draco's life. If Draco were to know how much Lucius cared for him, he would reciprocate, and the eventual loss of Lucius would be far more devastating a blow. As it was, Draco had always been far too emotional for a Malfoy, a trait that Lucius had been attempting to correct for many years. He had lost count of the number of times that he had repeated the same phrase over and over again to his son.

"A Malfoy never shows emotion. Emotion is weakness, and weakness causes pain."

He had hoped that he was beginning to get through to Draco. The bright smiles and loud, happy shouts of Draco's earlier years had of late been replaced by a cool, mask-like veneer, much like Lucius's own. As events stood, he normally would have believed that Draco was ready for a role in the Dark Lord's plans. This particular role, however, was not what Lucius had been expecting. He prided himself on being a man who was not easily surprised, but he had definitely been shocked when informed of what his son was expected to do. Nevertheless, he had agreed and had informed Draco of the basic details of the arrangement, omitting the most important details as he had been instructed to. Draco had accepted his role without question, although Lucius had seen a shadow of_ digust, fear, contempt_ some indescribable emotion cross his son's eyes. He had chosen to dismiss this, and had sent Draco away.

Now, here he was, alone in his bed, musing about circumstances that he could not change. He wished Narcissa were beside him, if only for the comforting warmth of another human being. He knew that it was his fault that they now utilised separate sleeping arrangements, but he was far too proud to admit that he missed her. The gradual demise of his marriage (which had, strangely, been for love) only served to reinforce his belief that emotion was weakness and weakness caused pain. He would not be weak again.

His heartbeat calmer now, Lucius rose and dressed meticulously (appearances were everything to a Malfoy). Breezing confidently out of the room, he pushed his earlier musings to the back of his mind. Thinking about less-than-ideal circumstances won't change them, he told himself. When an undesirable, yet irreversible situation arose, there was nothing he could do but accept it.

---

_What have I gotten myself into? _

Harry ploughed clumsily through the snow, marring its soft, creamy perfection with his unwieldy gait. As he moved, he cursed himself for his stupidity in challenging Draco to a ski-off. One near-death experience on the slopes was quite enough for him, thank you very much. Alright, perhaps he was being slightly melodramatic about the 'near-death' part. The fact of the matter was still that Draco could ski, and he couldn't.

_At least he won't know it's me out there making a fool of myself. _

That thought was strangely less comforting than he had imagined. Frowning, he struggled on towards the area where Draco had arranged for their competition to take place. As he shuffled gracelessly onwards through the snow, he watched fellow skiers stream by, their movements as fluid as quicksilver. He gazed in awe as the figures became airborne over slight rises in the white, melting through the air weightlessly before raising small puffs of opaque mist as they landed smoothly. How he longed to fly as they did, instead of the awkward, tiring shuffle he had perfected.

Pausing to rest his protesting muscles, Harry unfolded the map tucked into the pocket of his ski jacket and stared uncomprehendingly at it once more.

_I could really use that four-point spell right about now._

His strict instructions not to use any magic in the immediate future were starting to grate on him. Although nearly sixteen, he was still underage and would not normally be able to use magic during vacation. This made no difference to him at Privet Drive, as he spent much of his time in his room, musing idly about all the questions that we ask ourselves but can never quiet seem to answer. Here at a ski resort, though, the situation was different. It was so tempting to cast a few quick charms to increase his skiing prowess…

But he knew he would never do it. Dumbledore had specifically told him not to use magic, and what Dumbledore said, Harry did.

_My life's just like a screwed-up version of monkey-see, monkey-do. _

For all of his rule-breaking, Harry knew that he had never done anything that Dumbledore wasn't aware and approving of. The twinkle in Dumbledore's eye whenever Harry had been sent to see him for misbehaviour seemed to say "I knew that you would do this before you knew it yourself." The Headmaster's seeming omniscience had begun to grate on him lately, and just for once, he wanted to do something that Dumbledore would never see coming.

Casting a spell in front of hundreds of muggles, however, was not that thing. Bringing the map closer to his face, as if hoping that would somehow make his destination clearer to him, he studied it once more.

"Would you like some help?"

The friendly offer nearly made Harry jump out of his skin, so deep had his puzzlement been. Looking up into the kindly, pale blue eyes of a female ski instructor, he cleared his throat and answered.

"Yes, please, if you wouldn't mind."

"Where were you looking to go?"

Harry told her, and for a moment she looked puzzled, before her face reshaped itself into an expression of mild concern.

"That particular area is on the very outer edges of the ski fields," she began, gesturing towards the extreme south-eastern corner of the map.

_No wonder I couldn't find the bloody place._

"That section of the mountain is a double black diamond trail," she continued. Catching the blank look on Harry's face, she explained further. "A double black diamond trail is for very advanced skiers only, which I'm guessing you're not."

Her words, which were meant kindly, only served to increase Harry's already rapidly growing feeling of inadequacy.

"I'll be fine. Thanks for pointing me in the right direction." He began to lumber off, pretending that he couldn't hear her shouted warnings. They were half-hearted at first, for the instructor had seen far too many adrenaline junkies who simply turned back once they realised just how advanced the trail was, but then she remembered something important.

"Sir! I just remembered that nobody is allowed to ski on that trail, we had a tree overturn on it last night!" She began to race after Harry, and with her quick, nimble movements she would soon have caught up to him, if it hadn't been for the group of intermediate skiers that unexpectedly streamed in front of her in a thick wave. By the time they had cleared, Harry had disappeared, and her frantic shouts were lost in the wind.

---

_Where is he?_

Waiting at the beginning of the track, Draco was beginning to get impatient. He made an effort to always be punctual, and when others didn't return the courtesy, he became annoyed. Nobody kept a Malfoy waiting. Inhaling the crisp mountain air deeply, he told himself to relax. Charlie had probably just been waylaid, and as soon as he arrived, they could begin.

Excitement welled inside Draco at the prospect of finally being in a competition that he could win. For so long, he had been the runner-up, the valiant loser, the person who always let victory slip out of his grasp, and he was tired of it. Tired of the pitying stares, tired of the disappointment in Professor Snape's eyes, tired of the harsh words he received from his father. Tired of the triumphant gleam in those blazing green eyes, as the golden snitch Draco longed to catch brought Potter accolades and admiration yet again.

_You'd think that the bastard would have the manners to let me catch it at least once._

Adrenaline now speeding through his veins, Draco swept the scene once more, his keen eyes searching for his _victim _fellow competitor. He saw him, trundling along the mountainside with all the grace of a troll. His eyes narrowed, and his lips formed an all-too-familiar smirk.

"I'm sorry I'm late, I got lost..." Charlie's breathless words filled Draco with even more confidence, bringing rosy colour to his cheeks and sparkle to his eyes.

"It's unfortunate how that sometimes happens, isn't it?" The casual rebuff kindled a flame of hurt in Charlie's eyes, which was quickly replaced by that disquieting gaze of relentless determination that had so intrigued and terrified Draco the day before.

"Well, I'm sorry. It's been a while since I holidayed here."

_Whatever you say, Charlie._

"No matter, the delay only gave me more time to prepare myself. Are you sure that you can handle a trail of this difficulty? It's a…"

"Double black diamond, I know," Charlie cut in.

_Maybe he does know his skiing, after all. _

"That's right; this is a double black diamond trial, for the most superior skiers only. If you aren't up to the task, I won't think any less of you for pulling out."

Of course, Draco knew that Charlie wasn't going to pull out. He had only ever seen a look of such one-sided determination once before, and it was definitely not the look of a quitter.

"Of course I won't pull out. Are you ready?"

For a moment, Draco could almost feel the olive silk of his Quidditch robes whispering against his skin, could hear the roar of the crowd as he walked out into the blazing sunlight, could see that emerald gaze challenging him, drawing him into a world where only two people existed, and winning was everything.

He found himself staring into a brown gaze that promised exactly the same, and exhaled.

"I'm always ready. Let's go."

He could still feel those eyes on him as they stood at the top of the mountain, both intently focused and alert. As he stood there, Draco knew that he was going to win this race. There was no other option.

Both boys began to move forward, and the mountain beckoned, with its most treacherous twists and turns still unseen, but promising racing heartbeats, fierce challenges and pain.

_Let the games begin._

_--- _

"_There's a look in your eyes  
I've seen before  
It's all too familiar but I can't be sure  
I've got a memory somewhere  
That looks a lot like you…__"_

_---_

**A/N:** **The lyrics in this chapter are from 'Who Knows' by Avril Lavigne and 'Do I Know You' by Toby Keith. Reviews are greatly appreciated!**_  
_


	5. Chapter 04

**CHAPTER 04 – ****Extremes**

**--- **

"_The mirror on my wall  
Casts an image dark and small  
But I'm not sure at all it's my reflection.  
I am blinded by the light  
Of God and truth and right  
And I wander in the night without direction."_

**--- **

The essence of life is all in the details.

If it was not so, an ocean could be described simply as water and sand and that would be enough. Yet how can water and sand possibly describe the hunger of the roaring waves as they ravage the beach, the invisible currents that linger beneath the sparkling surface, just waiting for the chance to sweep a powerless swimmer into the depths of its embrace, or the tang of the briny air as it burns your lungs?

If the minutiae of life were not so important, the current race between Harry and Draco could be described as merely a race, and that would be enough. However, to label their mountain descent a race would be a gross inadequacy. A race is not enough to set hearts pumping so fast it seems that the rest of the body cannot keep up with the blinding rhythm of its beats. A race is not enough to set minds so intently on winning that to lose would be an inexcusable travesty. Merely a race is not enough to conjure up resolve so blinding that it seems as though the frost should steam in its path.

Draco's eyes were full of icy steel as he sizzled down the incline. That ice was the product of years of razor-sharp barricades built out of disappointment and failure; barricades that shielded him from all distraction, barricades which grew higher and more impenetrable with every loss and worked to ensure that he would not lose again. Years of being distracted at the most crucial point of the game by his competitor had not been without their advantages. Draco had now trained himself to reach a stage where his opponent was only the slightest factor in his equation of success, and the stakes would have been just as high had he been contending with his closest friend or his bitterest enemy.

Harry's eyes were full of raging fire as he fumbled his way along the track. This particular fire had always been inside of him. It was a blaze kindled upon the death of his parents and gently coaxed to flame with every expectation that had been thrust upon his shoulders and every smiling face that was so supremely confident in him rescuing the world from the jaws of devastation and being the hero at the end of the day. This fire licked at his heels, reminding him of just what he stood to lose the day that he fell short of these expectations, the day that the wizarding world finally became disillusioned and realized that the All-Powerful-Boy-Who-Lived was, in reality, just a boy.

So, who do you back when you have two extremities battling for supremacy? Fire or ice, good or evil, light or dark, life or death? It frequently happens that the extremes become so consumed in conquering each other that they forget about the innocuous shades of grey in between. They burn each other out; quench their power, until all that remains are those shades of grey that are neither here nor there.

The two boys were not prepared to accept the shades of grey as they wove their way down the snowy mantle. For them, there were only two possibilities: winning, or losing. Truthfully, the latter was an option that neither of them was willing to acknowledge. Once again, this was to be a case when neither extreme was the victor.

**---**

The miniscule shards of ice peppering his vision were doing nothing for Harry's mood as he struggled to keep up with Draco's fluent pace. These glinting hindrances were the product of his current position trailing in Draco's wake, and he almost wished that he still had his glasses to create some form of barrier between his eyes and the stinging missiles. He supposed that he should be grateful that he was managing (barely) to keep up with Draco's pace, even if the ice was an unfortunate byproduct of this.

As the two boys slalomed along the mountainside, Harry couldn't help but feel grudging admiration for the way Draco's body moved as one with his skies, or for his natural, flowing movements that belied the difficulty of skiing. On Harry, his skis were metal instruments that hindered his pace, and reduced his body to fumbling, unbeautiful movements. On Draco, his skis appeared to be an extension of his slender torso, swerving and curving dexterously at the lightest signal.

Admiring Draco's inherent grace was nothing unusual for Harry. He had often wished that his own movements could be as effortlessly smooth and poised as Draco's, then reprimanded himself for wanting to be more like his enemy, even in this small way.

The mountain air shrieked against Harry's face as he skied, biting at his skin until he was sure that it was red raw. Thankfully, the frigidity of the wind had numbed the exposed areas, so he couldn't feel any soreness. His ski goggles shielded his eyes from the wintry gust and enabled him to see just what treacherous obstacles lay ahead of him.

_Malfoy wasn't kidding when he said this was for __skiing freaks only. _

At his current wild pace, Harry was screaming past the snow-capped trees and bewitching scenery so fast that they appeared only as blurred streaks of colour against the overwhelmingly white trail. Unfortunately, he wasn't going fast enough to prevent himself from seeing the wickedly steep descent looming in front of him, an apparent sub-zero deathtrap.   
_Oh shit. _

That being the most coherent phrase Harry was capable of forming in his current state of blind terror, he shot out over the icy crest and became airborne. For one mesmerizing second of dazzling clarity, Harry found out what it felt like to be flying without wings (or a broom, for that matter).

For years he had loved flying, had relished the feeling of invincibility he experienced as the air parted for him. This, however, was completely different. With nothing magical or otherwise supporting him as he sliced through the frost, Harry was exposed. He knew that he was going to fall down, but this vulnerability only made the experience all the more enthralling. It was in the split second before his skis grazed the snow once more that Harry truly understood why Muggles so longed to fly.

His fleeting epiphany was broken as he touched the snow once again. The jolt caused by his skis shearing into the silky ice blanket seemed to simultaneously melt and freeze his body. Bracing himself for another sliding somersault over the snow, Harry was shocked to find that he was able to retain his balance through a combination of acrobatics that defied the laws of physics.   
_Was that a lucky break or what?_

Harry's momentary increase in self-confidence lasted for as long as his epiphany had, before what emerged directly in his path drove all other thoughts from his mind.

**--- **

The very air seemed to sing of his imminent victory as Draco cruised down the peak. The elusive scent of triumph lingered ahead of him, tempting him to reach forward and snare it within his grasp. Draco's sharp hearing registered the laboured breathing of Charlie behind him, and the almost painful sound of his skis grating forcefully against the snow, compared to the adroit whisper of his own.

_This race is __**mine**_

The crest ahead of Draco presented no great challenge, and he savoured the feeling of freedom as he flew past it, sniggering inwardly at Charlie's terrified whimpers to his rear.

As he moved, Draco contemplated what he would say to Charlie when they reached the conclusion of the trail and he emerged conquering.   
_You raced well._  
_Better luck next time._

_The best__ man won._  
_Do you realize how fucking long I've waited for this?_  
Yes, success would be sweet.

Just as Draco was revelling in his impending victory, his peripheral vision began sounding alarm bells. He had skied this trail many times, and never before had there been a large, dark object marring the pristine path.

_What the hell __is __**that**_

Common sense overtaking curiosity, Draco attempted to slow his pace. Considering the proximity of the object, his efforts were fruitless. The moment before impact, his last rational thought was _'Oh fuck, it's a tree. This is going to hurt."_  
The crack of his head connecting with a protruding branch stymied all further considerations and senses, but when Draco woke up he was going to have one killer headache.

**---**

_For Merlin's sake, not again._

The thrumming of Harry's head synchronized with the pulsing of his limbs as he lay sprawled in the snow. The whimpers of his throbbing body, along with the fleeting memory of Draco's pale cranium colliding with the tree seconds before his own combined to create a strong sense of déjà vu.

_Two__ skiing accidents in two days. I'm on a roll._

The powdery cocoon of snow encircling Harry's torso was a welcome cooling sensation against his broken skin, and he lay still for a while, wondering just how much bad luck one person could have in two days.

As the throbbing gradually ebbed from his limbs, Harry cautiously raised his head and promptly gasped at the cruel bolt of agony that flashed through his skull. The earth trembled, wavering in his pain-scarred vision, and then clicked back into focus, affording him a clear view of his current undesirable position.

When Harry had smashed into the unforgiving tree trunk, he had rebounded slightly and fallen sideways, skis cleaving through the snow and the tips becoming firmly embedded under the densely packed surface. Judging from the intense pain radiating from his left leg, he had also broken a few bones as well. Settling gingerly onto his elbows, Harry prepared to hoist himself upright.  
_This is going to hurt._

Straining, Harry pushed upwards with all his might, and waited for the relaxation of his taut ankle muscles as they were freed from their tremendously uncomfortable position. It didn't come. Cursing quietly, he heaved again. Nothing happened.  
"Damn it!"

Harry's frustrated cry echoed unnaturally in the hushed air, raising a carpet of goose bumps on his skin. The feeling of absolute solitude that his unanswered call generated made Harry automatically extend his hand in an attempt to find human contact. His gloved hand brushed the sleeve of Draco's ski jacket, and he recoiled in horror at the dark, clammy fluid that tainted his fingers.

Horror-struck, he belatedly noticed that the flawless snow was tainted by a pink halo surrounding Draco's skull. Stretching as far forward as his limited mobility would allow him to; Harry lifted Draco's head up ever so slightly and saw that the blood flowed from a nasty-looking wound near the base of his neck, creating a crimson stain against his ivory skin.   
_Bloody hell, how did I not notice this before?_

Cursing vociferously now, Harry's stressed brain struggled to remember elementary Muggle first aid. Was he meant to apply pressure to the injury, or numb it with ice, or both? Maybe it wasn't any of those at all.

"I can't bloody remember!"  
_Hermione would know what to do._  
Harry pictured his friend's warm face smiling soothingly at him, heard her speak to him in her best mother-hen tone.

"_**You're a wizard, Harry! Remember that healing course**__** we did together last year? I had to practically drag you and Ron along to it, so now that you have the opportunity you'd better use the skills that we were taught! Now calm down, and think back to what you learnt."**_  
Feeling oddly comforted, Harry closed his eyes and remembered back to the classes. He heard the Medi Wizard's nasal tones droning on about the human anatomy, and how it was extremely important to remember the specific differences between each section of the body, as these affected the incantation and intent of the spell.   
_Head injury, head injury, what did he say about head injuries?_

The unpleasant tones once again reverberated through his mind.   
"_**The brain is the most complex and least-understood organ in the body. When healing injuries relating to the cranial area, you must first determine whether the wound is superficial or serious."**_

Now what did that mean? Harry had a vague notion that it meant that he had to determine how deep the gash was. Straining once again to cradle Draco's head in his hands, he gingerly examined the damaged area. While there was certainly a copious amount of blood, the actual wound seemed to be reasonably shallow.   
_Ok, shallow is good. Now what was the spell?_

Once more, Harry tried to recall the room and the Medi Wizard's voice. He could hear it murmuring in the background, probably revealing the exact incantation that Harry needed.   
_Why can't I hear him?_

_**His mind's eye showed**__** Draco standing in the corner of the space, flanked as always by Crabbe and Goyle, and watching Harry intently. His stare was boring into Harry, sending heat through his veins and pounding in his ears, and in doing so drowning out the information that Harry needed to hear in the present time. Just as Harry was despairing of ever remembering the spell, he saw Draco's lips form the words 'Capitis Vigoratus', then throw his head back in a mocking laugh. **_

"_**Remember that one, Potter. With a head as swollen as yours, you're bound to need it."**_

_Capitis Vigoratus__. Capitis Vigoratus. _  
Harry chanted the words softly to himself as he placed his hands at the base of Draco's neck.

The Medi Wizard's voice rang out a final time as Harry prepared to speak the incantation.

"_**The most crucial**__** aspect of healing is the will. The healer must truly wish to heal for the spell to work; therefore wands are unnecessary, as the will to cure can be most potently harnessed through bodily contact."**_  
_I want to heal Draco. I do._

With that concluding thought, Harry whispered "Capitis Vigoratus" and sighed as he felt the magic coalesce in his veins and run smoothly into Draco's wound. He sensed, rather than saw, the split tissue bond and soothe until all that remained was an inconspicuous, light scar.   
Feeling drained by even this minor healing, Harry let his eyelids fall and expelled a long, weary breath.   
At that moment, Draco stirred.

**--- **

Draco awoke expecting pain. After many years of skiing, and experiencing the accidents that inevitably walk hand-in-hand with the sport, Draco knew that an acute, agonizing ache where his head had collided with the tree trunk would be the least he could expect. Frankly, he was surprised to be conscious, given the severity of the accident.

Yet Draco awoke feeling only minor twinges where his appendages had been bruised. His head was clear, and this clarity provided him with the only possible explanation for his miraculous lack of harm.   
_Magic. _

Abruptly becoming aware of the solid, comforting, _human_ weight cushioning his head, it all became obvious.   
Charlie was a wizard.   
A damn good one too, to have been capable of healing a head injury under pressure.

Despite himself, Draco was impressed. He doubted whether he would have been able to perform complex magic such as that after slamming into a tree at over 80 miles per hour. Nevertheless, this newfound respect for Charlie came coupled with an increased sense of suspicion. The likelihood of an aristocratic pureblood wizard vacationing at a Muggle ski resort was exceptionally low, and the chance of most probably the only two teenage wizards at the resort running into each other was about as likely as Crabbe passing his OWLS.

As Charlie's hands shifted beneath him, transferring a wave of heat through his body, Draco decided that right now, he didn't really care. The silence was a contented one, but the snow slowly seeping through his supposedly waterproof jacket (Madame Malkin and her sub-par ski-wear had a lot to answer for, in his opinion) forced Draco to break it.   
"Well, Charlie, life is certainly never dull when you're around. Two impressive skiing accidents in two days? I do believe you've set a new record."

Draco could **feel **the boy's cheeks colouring, and he smirked almost imperceptibly.

"I swear, this is the most horrible déjà vu I've ever experienced."  
Smiling softly, Draco noticed for the first time that Charlie's body was twisted at an uncomfortable angle next to him. Rising gingerly, and feeling an inexplicable sense of emptiness at the loss of Charlie's warmth, he realized that the boy's skis were implanted deeply in the snow.

Draco couldn't repress a snicker at the sight.   
"Come on, I'll help you out."  
Bending a little, Draco extended his hand to Charlie for the second time in as many days, and Charlie took it.

Their combined strength accomplished what one alone could not, and unexpectedly they were facing each other, their heads ridiculously close. Draco's breath caught for a moment as he marvelled at the picture the other boy created. Charlie's tan hair was dusted lightly with bright fragments of ice, cheeks glowing from the exertion of the day, and the strength of his gaze made Draco's legs feel disconcertingly unsteady. The fragile clouds of wispy frost created by their warm breath mingled softly in the air. For one breathless instant, they could not have been any closer.

Charlie's jagged cry of pain as his legs folded beneath him shattered the moment. His face was lined with agony and his eyes, though dry, were abnormally bright.

"For Merlin's sake, what's wrong?" Draco was somewhat annoyed at the hint of panic that crept into his voice as he said this. Malfoy's **never** panicked.

"My…leg" was all that Charlie managed to utter before grimacing and shutting his eyes in an ineffective attempt to suppress the pain.

"What about your leg?" Draco was quite pleased to hear that his voice had reverted to the brisk, business-like tones appropriate for the situation.

"I think it's broken." The expression on Charlie's face was enough to tell Draco that he was definitely right.

"Alright, I can fix this. Hold still for a minute." Draco's assured tones disguised the nervous energy he could feel gathering inside him.

Gracefully sinking to his knees (a task remarkably difficult to accomplish whilst on skis), Draco delicately placed his fingertips on the cool cloth near Charlie's calf and summoned the magic inside of him. If only he could remember the incantation…

_**The force of Potter's stare was frankly alarming as they waged a silent battle across the room. The incessant monotony of the Medi Wizard was incredibly dull, and Draco was almost glad for the distraction. The constant reproachful stares Granger kept directing in Potter's direction were highly amusing, as was their complete lack of acknowledgement. As he and Potter looked fixatedly at one another, the Gryffindor's mouth **__**twisted into the shape of the words 'Cruris Vigoratus'. **_ "_**You keep that spell in mind, Malfoy," he uttered flippantly. "You'll need it when someone gives you the kick in the shins you deserve."**_  
_Cruris Vigoratus. _

"Crucis Vigoratus," Draco whispered, his voice so low that it was almost as if he hadn't spoken at all. The answering rush of magic to his fingertips told him that he obviously had, and he exhaled quietly as the healing energy shifted to Charlie's torn muscle and bone.

Abruptly realizing his discomfiting position kneeling at Charlie's feet, Draco tried to stand too quickly, and the world shifted dizzyingly as he stumbled. A strong hand at his back bolstered him, and Draco was upright once again.

"Thanks," he muttered quickly, feeling peculiarly embarrassed at both his moment of weakness and the way that Charlie's fingers had seemed to linger for a fraction of a second longer than required.   
_My senses must be over-stimulated after the healing. _

"No problem," was the easy reply, and Draco suddenly felt overwhelmingly grateful for the English aristocracy's convenient dismissal of any sign of discomfort. However, the rose that suffused Charlie's features as he spoke betrayed the fact that he may not have been quite as oblivious to the situation as he seemed.  
"You never mentioned that you were a wizard." There wasn't much to be grateful for about Charlie's lack of tact, however.  
"It's hardly an ideal conversational topic at a Muggle ski resort," Draco remarked.  
"That's true, which makes it all the more surprising that you'd so obviously use magic in front of someone you've just met."

"Charlie, I've been skiing long enough to know that when you crash headfirst into a tree and come to with absolutely no injuries to speak of, magic has to be involved. Once I knew that you were a wizard, it wasn't difficult to figure out that I would much rather heal your leg than carry you back to the lodge. It's far less effort."   
_I'm such a bloody liar._

Healing was certainly not an 'easy' option. To heal someone required the combined use of mental, physical and spiritual energy, and although initially the effects were lesser, the aftermath that the two boys would soon experience surpassed the effects that literally carrying one another back to the lodge would have had.

Charlie seemed content to ignore this fact, and accepted Draco's explanation outwardly without question.  
"I suppose you're right. You're a very analytical type, aren't you?" There was a shadowed question lingering in Charlie's eyes that Draco couldn't quite decipher.

_You think I wanted to be like this? Try being Lucius Malfoy's son and see how far being __sensitive gets you, Charlie. _

"I've always been taught to weigh up my options, analyse each objectively and make a decision based on whatever outcome is in my best interests."

_A perfectly reasonable response._

Whatever question had danced elusively in Charlie's countenance seemed to have been answered, and his next words were spoken in a far breezier, but somehow less real tone.

"Well, now that we've realized we're both wizards, we should probably think about how we're going to get back to the lodge with this great bloody tree in front of us. I don't fancy freezing out here all night." Charlie's lips quirked slightly, and Draco saw that he was trembling faintly.   
"Sounds like a plan, Charlie."

Dusting the clear ice fragments off their clothes, the boys surveyed the scene. To their rear was an impossibly sheer trail, ahead of them was an 8ft tree lounging horizontally on its bed of white.

Efficiently weighing up the two options, Draco made his choice. Both boys were weakened by their respective healings, so skiing back uphill was clearly not an option. Onward it was, then.

Performing a levitation charm on the tree would appear to be the smart option, but Draco decided not to risk it. If the Muggle ski instructors were already aware of the fallen tree, its sudden removal would lead to awkward questions, and his father's unremitting warnings about avoiding difficult questions wherever possible had not been without avail.

Draco supposed that he and Charlie could both perform levitation charms on themselves, but if his own exhaustion was anything to judge by, neither of them would be capable of human levitation.

_There's only one way __forward. Thank Merlin that Potter isn't here to witness this._  
"Charlie, would you mind giving me a boost?"  
The snort of unsuccessfully hidden laughter from Charlie warmed Draco's skin to a crimson tint.   
_It wasn't that odd of a request!_

Draco waited (in what he hoped was a dignified manner) for Charlie's mirth to subside.   
"You've forgotten the magic word." The twinkle in the other boy's eye was sufficient to make Draco overlook the ignominy of what he was about to do.

"Please." As the simple word flowed from his tongue, Draco was surprised at the glitter of deep satisfaction, contrasting with mild surprise, which suddenly trembled within the brown of Charlie's eyes.

He chose to ignore it.

"Er…how do I 'boost' you when you've got those skis on? I don't want to poke my eye out or anything…" Charlie was still smiling, although his hands were shifting uncertainly at his sides.

"You make a good point." Bending lithely, Draco's gloved hands released the locks on his skis, creating a gentle 'snap' as his feet were freed. Leaving the now-more-than-a-little-battered skis on the snow for the time being, he picked his way over to the pine trunk; slipping a little as he did so (even a Malfoy couldn't walk gracefully in ski boots).

After a few moments of waiting rather foolishly next to the snow-frosted tree, hands clinging to an overhanging branch, Draco snapped impatiently, "Are you waiting for a personal invitation? Boost, now!"

"Oh, sorry." Charlie hastened over, shaking his head slightly as if trying to clear it. Crouching down and looking decidedly awkward, he placed his hands under the soles of Draco's boots and pushed.

**--- **

Harry was fortunate enough to receive an unobstructed view of Draco's rear end as he physically forced him upwards to the crest of the tree trunk. Panting from the effort, he averted his eyes as Draco wriggled into a more comfortable position and reminisced about what had just transpired in the past minutes.

He recalled Draco extending his hand to Harry, helping him up. **Helping **him. He thought back to that crazy few seconds where they had been so close, and the expression on Draco's face so utterly blissful, so totally unfamiliar that it had stolen Harry's breath. He remembered the rush of peace flowing into him as Draco's magic entered his body, the earnest need to help pulsing through the Slytherin's lightly-breathed incantation.

He relived the cool detachment on Draco's face when he spoke of how he had only healed Harry because it was the easier option. He felt the rush of pleasant surprise he had experienced as Draco had said please, and meant it.   
_How can one person be so warm and open one minute, and such a cold bastard again the next?_

That was how it had always been with Draco. The ever-changing moods, such polar opposites of each other it was astonishing to think that one person could hold all those emotions inside them, masked as always behind the carefully-maintained façade.

Mentally laughing bitterly, Harry realized that he had been stupid enough to entertain the notion that Malfoy might actually have shown him the 'real' Draco now that he didn't know he was talking to Harry Potter. It was idiotic, really, to think that Draco would be a changed person just because Harry didn't look like himself anymore. It had been moronic of him to think that Draco was only a bastard to people he thought were below him.

That illusion had certainly come crashing down with those emotionless words, "Whatever outcome is in my best interests". That was always how it was with Draco; he would do whatever was most convenient for him, and screw anyone who tried to get in his way.

_You can take your stupid blushes, and hitched breaths, and healing fingers and go screw yourself, Malfoy. I'm not going to __care anymore._  
"Are you going to dawdle down there all day? Pass me up my skis, would you Charlie?"

Draco's voice breaking through his muddled thoughts, Harry scooped up the strips of metal and passed them to him, moving almost automatically.

Harry listened vaguely to the snapping noises as Draco's feet were ensconced in his skis once more, and then heard Draco call out to him.

"Come on, it's your turn to get up." Harry allowed himself to be lifted upwards by that strong right arm, honed by years of Quidditch, and soon he was sitting on top of the tree, abreast with Draco. The two slid off the trunk and onto the white simultaneously, and then paused as they realized just how much of the track they had left to ski.  
"Draco…I…"

As if reading his mind, Draco placed a hand lightly on Harry's shoulder.

"I'm tired as well, Charlie." Looking at Draco's face for the first time since his musings, Harry registered with mild shock that the blonde looked just as drained as he felt.   
"Do you want to take it slowly, then? Going back to the lodge, I mean?" Feeling more than a little flustered at his own incoherency, Harry waited for Draco to reply.

"I think that's the best idea you've had all day." Harry saw the small, weary smile cross Draco's face and inexplicably felt his fatigue increase tenfold.

"Let's go, then." Moving together in a slow rhythm, the boys began to head back towards the lodge, creating a bizarre, touching picture on the mountainside.

As Harry watched Draco's skis move in sync with his, and felt the boy's weariness soundlessly reverberating with his own, he realized that his biggest problem now wasn't how he was going to get the information from Draco. It was how he was going to make it through these weeks and continue with this deception, knowing that as many times as he tried to tell himself that he didn't care about all of Malfoy's many different shades, he did.

He found himself caring about them more than he wanted to, and each smile that Malfoy graced Charlie (not Harry) with, each step they took together, each teasing word they shared, only served to wind themselves around him like spiked vines, choking him in their grasp.

Like the ticking of the clock, Harry could feel his point of no-return slipping past him, and the further away it moved, the greater his suspicion grew that he was getting himself in way over his head.

**--- **

"_Through the corridors of sleep  
Past the shadows dark and deep  
My mind dances and leaps in confusion.  
I don't know what is real,  
I can't touch what I feel  
And I hide behind the shield of my illusion."_

**--- **

**A/N: The lyrics in this chapter are from 'Flowers Never Bend With The Rainfall' by Simon and Garfunkel. Please take the time to leave a review, no matter how short, it really brightens up my day :)  
**


	6. Chapter 05

**_Disclaimer: (Applies to all previous and subsequent chapters) I forgot to add this before, but the characters, Harry Potter universe, everything belongs to JKR. (Except the plot, which is all mine). I'm doing this because I want to, and for other's enjoyment, and absolutely no profit is being made._**

**_  
_****CHAPTER 05 – ****Black and White Aren't Colours**

"_Some things were perfectly clear,  
seen with the vision of youth  
No doubts and nothing to fear,  
I claimed the corner on truth  
These days it's harder to say  
I know what I'm fighting for  
My faith is falling away  
I'm not that sure anymore" _

The sun had cast its last, bleeding rays and the clouds had swirled up to obscure the stars by the time Harry and Draco stumbled into Harry's cabin, weary to the bone. The night was tranquil and chilly, scattered snowflakes drifting lazily down from the leaden sky. Their two shadowy forms were the only elements of darkness against the untouched white backdrop.

The crackling murmur of their skis on the snow had been the only sound for quite some time; they had intuitively formed an unspoken agreement along the way that conversation would be a waste of energy they didn't have.

The door had been mercifully unlocked, allowing for a quick entrance in out of the cold. A rush of warm mustiness surged out as the door opened, clashing with the brisk iciness of the evening air, and the clicking of the doorknob broke the silence.

The cabin was dim as they slid through the doorway, the shadowy nooks hinting at unseen menaces lurking in the darkness.

Harry had always been secretly afraid of shadows, and their many illusions of the light that left you unsure if what you were seeing was real or just a figment of an overexcited imagination. He was not afraid of the dark; there was nothing to be feared in what could not be seen. It was the_ possibilities_ of what could linger within shadow's fickle depths that sent chills running down his spine.

Shuddering (in a hopefully discreet manner), he headed for the sizeable silhouette of the plush lounge. Its comforting mass seemed like an extremely desirable place to rest his exhausted body on right about now…

"I'll just rest here for a while…"

Draco's eyelids flickered as he sank onto the couch, wincing as his wounded body screamed in protest at the movement.

Resigning himself to the far less comfortable shagpile rug, Harry lowered himself tentatively to the ground.

_Typical Malfoy, always taking the best things for himself._

Before his annoyance could really fester inside him, Harry looked at Draco more closely and saw that extreme fatigue was evident in every contour of his toned body. Harry watched the boy's jaw twist painfully as he stretched cautiously, bending to remove his skis.

_He really does look tired._

Even in the poor light, Harry noticed that Draco was shivering, his lips stained blue.

"What's the bet I've got enough energy left in me to start up this fire?"

The golden warmth of the fire would be a pleasant relief, but Harry was so tired that he doubted he could do it.

_It couldn't hurt to try._

"There's no way you could do it. I'm barely able to move, and we all know who has the greater fitness level here."

Even Draco's drawl was more sluggish than usual, as if it was an effort just to form the words.

"We'll see about that," Harry replied, voice infused with false confidence.

"_Incendio_."

Pointing his wand at the darkly still fireplace, Harry was hugely surprised to see cheery orange flames burst forth, jostling amongst themselves in an attempt to coil their way higher and higher into the black depths of the chimney.

Weak amber light emanated from the blaze, creating countless muted shadows in the corners of the room where the light's merry path could not penetrate.

"Told you I could do it."

He spoke as if he had never doubted himself.

_I got lucky._

"You got lucky, Charlie, admit it."

Draco's face broke into a sleepy smile and for a fragile instant he looked completely at ease.

A slight shift of his weight on the couch, however, brought forth a deep frown of pain. Draco covered his face shakily with his palm in a transparent attempt to disguise his discomfort.

_**You must use every possibly opportunity to gain information, Harry.**_

"I think I know what you need, Draco -" he began, feeling sickened at the thought of taking advantage of even his enemy like this.

_What am I doing?_

"Oh, really? What would that be, Charlie?"

For the first time in his life, Harry witnessed Draco Malfoy attempting a smirk and failing, his jaw muscles indolent after their trek.

"- You need a stiff drink. There's really nothing better for numbing pain and, well, numbing basically anything in fact."

A small twitch of the lips seemed to be all the Draco was capable of at present in the ways of facial movement.

"We are full of surprises, aren't we? I never pictured you as the drinking type."

_There's plenty more surprises where that came from, Malfoy._

"Yes, you'd never know it to look at me, but I'm really quite the drunkard."

Harry smiled teasingly at Draco, willing him to take the bait and banish that terrible apathy from his features.

Harry was used to Draco's face being _alive_, whether it be simmering with hatred as he traded glares with Harry across the Great Hall, glowing with anticipation as they strode out onto the Quidditch pitch, the screams of the crowd ringing in their ears, or lit up with quiet joy as he shared a joke with his Slytherin housemates.

Lately, that passion that had always set Draco's features aflame had been buried progressively more deeply beneath a cool, neutral screen so eerily reminiscent of his father. The gradual transformation scared Harry, and he was willing to do anything to coax the life back into Draco's countenance.

His efforts were rewarded with the following charming statement, accompanied with a languid laugh.

"Oh, sod off and go fetch the drink."

_**Much**__ better._

_**---**_

Muffled, gloomy silence hung thickly over the kitchenette as Harry reached into the cupboard, extracting a gleaming bottle of Firewhiskey from its corners. Placing it carefully on the bench, he reached even further inside and removed a small, twinkling bottle.

_Veritaserum._

Harry revisited Dumbledore's words to him, in the moment before he grasped hold of the Portkey that would send him away from his comprehensively mapped-out life and into the jungle of uncertainty and strange new realisations.

"_**It is vital that you utilise each and every opportunity to gain information from Draco during your time undercover. However, I don't believe that directly questioning him about Voldemort's plans would be the most effective option. Subtlety is the key, Harry. Remember that."**_

Harry recalled feeling the familiar stirrings of anger at Dumbledore's ambiguity as the Headmaster handed him the small bottle. The potion's weight light and cool in his hands, he had grasped hold of the Portkey and, with one sickening jolt, been hurtled into something he had never once contemplated in his many ruminations about how his life was going to pan out.

Gazing intently at the clear, innocuous liquid swirling within the bottle, Harry felt awe surging through him at how such a harmless-looking potion had the power to destroy so many lives, wrench apart lifelong friendships and dredge up secrets buried within the dim memory of the past.

_Can I really do this?_

How could he justify the use of this potion on Draco, when so far he had been undeniably more open with Harry than Harry had been with him? The two characteristics that Harry despised most in others were deceit and hypocrisy. Yet, by using this potion, he would not just be making a hypocrite out of himself. He would be betraying Draco's trust, whatever little of it he may have gained.

_How far am I willing to go for the sake of this bloody mission?_

Harry was used to waging moral battles with himself, but as he twisted the Veritaserum in his hands, he felt as though the strong, high-minded side he had always prided on winning was fighting a losing battle.

_**---**_

"Here we go".

Placing the Firewhiskey and two glasses upon the table, Harry glanced at Draco, finding his eyes oddly drawn to him in the semi-darkness.

The soft light wavering through the room flickered softly upon Draco's countenance, sharpening his nose and hollowing his cheeks; melting his ash-blonde hair into a strangely ethereal gold. The overall effect was decidedly eerie, and Harry quickly averted his eyes.

Focusing on the alcohol instead, he took hold of the Firewhiskey. The broiling crimson liquid it contained felt pleasantly warm through the glass, transferring heat through Harry's body far more effectively than the fire had done.

Hands trembling almost indiscernibly, Harry poured the alcohol, listening to the gentle sizzle the fluid made as it connected with the glass. He could feel Draco's gaze burning him, just as real as the small, fiery drop that escaped from the bottle to hiss against his numb skin.

Harry passed Draco his glass, and cradled his own against his chest as he settled on the rug once more.

"Thanks."

The quiet civility from Draco only served to unnerve Harry further.

_This is so weird! I'm sitting here, with Draco Malfoy, in a cabin in the middle of a bloody snowfield, drinking Firewhiskey. Next thing I know we'll be spilling our innermost secrets to each other. _

He watched Draco raise the glass to his lips, and knock back the flaming liquid in a single swallow.

"Had a lot of practise, have you?"

Harry had intended the remark as a careless joke to lighten the weighty atmosphere, but it had quite the opposite effect.

"When you have a life like mine, you use anything within reach to escape it."

Draco's grave tone told Harry that this was information he never would have revealed under normal circumstances.

Hating himself for probing at Draco's weakness, Harry couldn't resist further inquiry.

"To escape…what, exactly?"

"The expectations. The pressure. The pain. When you're the son of one of Voldemort's elite, life isn't all flowers and rainbows."

The bitterness in Draco's tone stunned Harry.

_I always just assumed he loved being part of Voldemort's inner circle. _

"What do you mean, 'the son of one of Voldemort's elite'? Is your father a Death Eater?"

Harry cringed inwardly at his feigned ignorance, but found himself unwillingly interested in Draco's reply.

"Yes, he's one of their most 'influential' members. Influential, that is, if you could consider any of Voldemort's slaves to have authority or a mind of their own."

_Now that's one I haven't heard before._

"You're not afraid to use Voldemort's real name."

Harry's words sounded like a statement, but both boys knew it was a multi-faceted question.

Reaching for the Firewhiskey, Draco poured himself another glassful and promptly drank it before replying.

"My father is. He's terrified of Voldemort, always has been. He's been trying to instil that terror in me since I was old enough to walk. I guess my using Voldemort's name is just a perverse way of defying my father, and everything he stands for."

"What does he stand for, Draco?"

Both boys' voices had lowered until they were hushed murmurs, barely discernible above the jolly snapping of the fireplace.

"Fear. Weakness. My father's always told me that weakness is one of the greatest sins, yet he's one of the weakest people I know. His fear has kept him trapped in the service of an insane, egomaniacal tyrant for years."

The harsh light burning in Draco's eyes as he spoke was unsettling.

_So much for the whole 'perfect evil family' theory. _

"Aren't you ever afraid?"

Harry's voice was almost inaudible now; the boys had subconsciously moved closer together as they talked.

"Of course I bloody am. I'm fucking terrified all the time, and I hate it. I hate my father for what he's done to my family. For what he's done to me."

Reaching brusquely for the bottle, Draco tipped another liberal shot into his glass with hands shaking from barely-suppressed emotion. He drained it, and poured himself another.

Harry's astonishment and sympathy must have been written in his face, because the next words Draco spoke were:

"Oh, don't look at me like I'm all tragic and misunderstood, Charlie. I'm not. I used to love being the Malfoy heir and the status and riches that came with the name. I suppose I still do. I just never realised quite how inconvenient being a Death-Eater protégé would be."

_So he is planning to be a Death Eater after all._

Bracing himself, Harry played what he thought was his final card.

"My parents were murdered by Voldemort."

Harry's serious timbre betrayed the fact that, although this information was part of his cover story, it was also very much true. Fighting to keep the sorrow and deep hatred he felt over his parent's death out of his voice, he persisted with the line of conversation.

"I've spent most of my life hating him for what he did, and I have to admit that it surprises me that you would want to become a Death Eater, especially after you've seen the suffering that Voldemort causes, as much to his followers as his enemies."

Harry told himself that this was just Charlie talking, and that the real Harry Potter wasn't surprised at all, but every word that he spoke, he believed.

Draco sighed, a simple exhalation that Harry could draw no conclusions from.

"Of course I don't _want _to be a Death Eater. Sometimes you have to make hard choices, choices that other people wouldn't and couldn't understand. You have to accept that you're going to be hated for what you do, but take comfort in the fact that you're doing the best thing for you and your family."

"And you think that doing the right thing is serving an evil tyrant and helping create another era of fear and devastation?"

Disguise or not, Harry's beliefs were being laid bare, open for Draco to scorn and dismiss. Yet he didn't quite do that.

"Best and right are two completely different words, Charlie. Like I said, it's complicated, _life _is complicated. You wouldn't understand, so don't bother."

Nonetheless, Harry couldn't quite bring himself to believe that being a Death Eater was what Draco wanted, considering all that he had just exposed.

Draco spoke again before Harry could respond to his last statement, his pitch completely altered.

"You haven't so much as touched your drink. If I'm going to get hopelessly drunk, I might as well do it with company."

Here Draco laughed; a harsh, choking sound that chilled Harry to the core.

Feeling unfathomably broken and slightly disoriented at the swift change of topic, Harry drew the Firewhiskey to his lips, and sipped.

The blazing liquid surged down Harry's oesophagus, forging a molten pathway inside him. The pungent alcohol set every one of his nerve endings alight, the incredible heat an amazing, painful sensation that he wanted to relive over and over again.

_Damn that's good._

"Good, isn't it?"

Harry turned, expecting to see the trademark smirk back on Draco's face, but he found only a haunting stare, as though the two had now shared in something deeper than simply drinking together.

"Yeah, it's good."

Harry found himself grinning, and for this he was supremely thankful.

_If alcohol can make that awful broken feeling go away, it's no wonder Draco needs it so much. _

Swilling the remainder of his Firewhiskey, Harry poured another. Unsure of whether he wanted to pursue this deeper, more painful line of conversation, he waited in silence for Draco to speak.

"So, Charlie, I presume you attend Durmstrang, since you obviously aren't a student at Hogwarts?"

_Light, meaningless banter it is, then. _

"No, actually, I don't. My Uncle tutors me himself; he seems to think that the magical education system isn't good enough for me."

"Ah, so you're the cherished, doted-on nephew. How touching."

Years of gruelling manual labour, callous words and rejection flooded to the front of Harry's mind. He could almost taste the brackish sweat on his skin and feel the deep, throbbing ache in his bones as he repainted the garden fence for what must have been the fifteenth, entirely unnecessary time. The memory of the trepidation and disgust he saw in Aunt Petunia's eyes as she raised the frying pan above his head was startlingly clear, even now.

_Cherished? Doted-on? You don't know how far off the mark you are, Malfoy._

Now that he wasn't so drained, Draco's defences appeared to have been raised. The feelings previously revealed in his eyes were now obscured behind shuttered silver orbs; as opposed to the open, fiercely bright shine of moments before.

"Hardly. My uncle pretty much leaves me to study by myself, and Apparate off to visit his Italian mistress."

"Oh yes, every aristocrat worth his Galleons has to keep a mistress, of course. And what about you, Charlie? Do you have a pretty little heiress of your own?"

The casual tone suggested to Harry that Draco couldn't care less about his reply, but the severe scrutiny he suddenly found himself under hinted that this was not the case.

"Oh, no. Um, girls aren't really my type…"

_Oh Merlin, I just told Draco Malfoy that I'm gay. I'm going to kill Dumbledore for this. _

Draco raised an eyebrow at this 'confession', and his face seemed to soften before saying:

"I could tell, you know. From when I first met you, I knew that you flew for the other Quidditch team, so to speak."

Harry's pride was sorely offended by this remark, considering that he was in fact straight, and this was all part of the façade.

"How could you tell?" If his tone was sharper than usual, Harry couldn't be held responsible.

"Oh, there were many signs. For example, no _straight _boy blushes whenever he makes eye contact with me."

_I do __**not**__ blush._

Here Draco smiled faintly, and sipped his Firewhiskey. Harry imitated his movement, and let the heated fluid blunt the embarrassment and indignation he was currently experiencing.

Deciding that now that Charlie's sexuality (_not __**my **__sexuality, _Harry reminded himself) was in the open, it would be fruitful to steer the conversation more in Draco's direction, Harry spoke.

"Well, I don't suppose you, er, 'fly for the other Quidditch team' as well, do you Draco?"

Harry could feel the familiar crimson heat seeping into his cheeks, and abruptly occupied himself by staring at his liquor.

"You could say that." Draco's voice was slipping back into softer tones, and Harry unthinkingly drew closer.

"Do you know what it's like, being a gay heir in a respectable, pureblood family?"

The soft cadence shrouded the hurt in the words.

"I've never exactly told my Uncle about it…"

"You think I go around parading my sexual preferences, Charlie? I'm not a bloody idiot; I know what the punishment for a transgression of that kind would be! But I think that my father suspects, sometimes, and the consequences aren't pleasant."

Draco drained his glass at the end of the sentence, wincing as the strong liquor coursed through him.

"At times, I feel as though alcohol is more than a convenient relief. I hate being reliant on anything, or anyone, and I always feel disgusted with myself afterwards, but when all sensation is dulled I forget that I'm a coward and that my life is already mapped out for me. It's an amazing feeling. The only experience better is the natural high I get from skiing. That's why I love it so much here."

As if swiftly realising that he had revealed too much of himself, Draco quieted.

_Oh my God. I never realised. _

A wave of nausea spread through Harry and he closed his eyes and gripped the rug tightly, praying for it to pass. It did, and clarity returned. In that moment, Harry decided that tonight, he was going to forget about his mission, and allow himself to learn that black and white weren't even colours.

He swallowed, and revealed more of himself than he had ever planned to.

"It's ok to need other people, Draco. With my parents dead, I feel so unbelievably alone sometimes. But then I remember that there are people who care about me, and want to see me happy. If you have no-one to live for, there is no joy in being alive."

Harry was too caught up in his own swirling thoughts to realise that tears were trembling in Draco's eyes, threatening to overflow and crumple his composure.

"What you don't realise, Charlie, is that I **don't **have anyone to live for."

These words, whispered so softly that they could have been lost in the crackling song of the flames, shocked Harry out of his reflections.

"How can you say that, Draco? I bet that your parents would be appalled to hear you talking like that."

"My parents are concerned with their own affairs, and the upholding of the family name. There's little room for me in the equation, other than as an heir and a means to an end. I only wish that I'd realised that when I was younger."

Deciding that any comments on Draco's family matters at this point would be inappropriate and uninformed, Harry amended his approach.

"Well, what about your friends at Hogwarts? They must be people that you live for."

"Friends, Charlie? That's an interesting word. Would you classify two goons with more muscle than brainpower, who follow me like lost children and cater to my every whim to be friends? Or perhaps a girl who fawns all over me to try and secure herself a slice of the Malfoy fortune is a better candidate?"

"Surely you must be close with at least some of your housemates?"

_Please, for Gods' sakes, say you are. _

The last thing that Harry had wanted was to find himself feeling sorry for Malfoy, but sorry didn't even come close to how he felt as he listened to Draco speak.

"I'm not saying that I dislike my fellow Slytherins; I get along with them and they're my allies in the face of persistent prejudice against our house and what it supposedly stands for. I just don't consider any of them to be true friends, and I'm sure they wouldn't look upon me as a real friend either. The majority of children in Slytherin have been taught to keep most people at more-than-arms-distance. It's a basic survival tactic in our world."

_Our world. His world. A world I can't understand._

_I should not be hearing this._

"How about people from other houses? Are you friends with any of them?"

Harry had no idea why he'd asked that question, as he already knew the answer. Feeling uneasy, he took a huge swallow of Firewhiskey and struggled not to choke.

A sour, scornful laugh was the initial response from Draco, followed by words that made Harry feel as if he had been stabbed in the stomach with a blade of pure ice.

"Friends with people from other houses? You've got to be joking. With sodding Harry Potter strolling around the school with a 'Draco Malfoy is an Evil Bastard' sign practically taped to his scarred forehead, who's going to want to have any contact with me?"

Following this minor outburst, Draco tipped another generous serving of Firewhiskey into his glass and swallowed, grimacing.

Harry nervously reached up to flatten his hair. Feeling only smooth, fine strands lying evenly on his scalp, he remembered that his hair wasn't the messy tangle that he was accustomed to anymore.

_There's no way he could know he's actually talking to 'Sodding Harry Potter' right now. _

"Harry Potter? He goes to school with you?"

His pretended ignorance, especially when Draco was so clearly hurting, was incredibly hard to maintain.

"Yes, he bloody well does. And no, I can't get you his fucking autograph."

The shocking vehemence in Draco's voice, coupled with the strong language the mention of Harry evidently provoked made his blood freeze.

"You really hate him, don't you?" Harry's voice was muted; he didn't trust himself to be any louder lest his turbulent emotional state come across in his speech.

"I used to think so."

There was a pause, in which the soft popping of fire and wood was the only sound. Then, as if a dam inside him long filled past capacity had burst, Draco continued on.

"The sod has made my life at Hogwarts a hassle ever since our first train ride together. I thought it would be nice to have a famous, powerful friend like him; someone who would bring me popularity and influence; someone who understood what it was like to have expectations that you could never achieve thrust upon you. So I introduced myself, and the bastard just looked straight into my eyes and rejected my friendship. He didn't even know me, and he'd judged me."

"As time went on, I realised that we never could have been friends. And do you know why? Because Harry Potter, Dark-Lord-Conqueror-Extraordinaire, has never known the pressure of being unable to live up to expectations. He lives up to all of them, every fucking one, and even creates new ones for himself."

Harry waited apprehensively for Draco to continue.

"In first year, nobody expected him to be good at Quidditch. I thought that maybe, in this area, I could be the one who shone. But no, he had to go and be bloody brilliant at it, without even trying."

"In second year, when everyone thought he was the Heir of Slytherin, I told myself that maybe I wouldn't want to be Harry Potter after all. Then he went and rescued some Weasley girl and he was everybody's favourite, perfect little hero again."

Draco was silent for a minute, clearing his throat and sipping his Firewhiskey before proceeding with his rant. Obviously, he had needed to say this for years.

"Then came third year; the year that Sirius Black escaped and Potter was having fainting spells whenever he saw the Dementors. Finally, here was a year that seemed to not be all sunshine and roses for Harry Potter. But again, it wasn't to be. Potter got himself kidnapped by Black and cornered by a werewolf, and still emerged unscathed and more arrogant than ever."

"Fourth year was the Triwizard Tournament, and Potter someone managed to be chosen as the second Hogwarts Champion. For a while, it seemed as though the ever-rosy public opinion of Harry Potter had swayed. Then he dodged a few tail whippings from some dragon, and he was the Wizarding World's idol _yet again. _For Merlin's sake, he even came back from the last task clutching a dead body, and Dumbledore still grovelled at his feet."

The last sentence stung Harry, and he gasped.

Apparently taking Harry's inhalation as a sign of acquiescence, Draco nodded in approval. His cheeks were becoming slowly more flushed as he talked, his eyes growing wilder and dewier.

"Finally, there was fifth year. The year that Potter's Number 1 Fan, Albus Dumbledore, finally got kicked out of Hogwarts. The Boy-Who-Lived-To-Annoy-Me finally seemed to have met his match in Dolores Umbridge. For once, I was getting recognition from the authority, and Potter was getting punished. I admit that I liked it."

_Oh God. Fifth year. Sirius._

If there was one memory that Harry didn't think he would be able to handle in his current frame of mind, it was the memory of Sirius's death and the incredible, raging anger that he felt because of it.

There was another pause, before Draco spoke words that Harry had never, in his darkest and wildest dreams, imagined he would hear Draco Malfoy saying.

"Then, when he and his cronies were captive in Umbridge's office, I saw a look in Potter's eyes that I had never seen before. It was a look of absolute desperation, one of utter terror. I could hear the pain in every syllable of his oh-so-obvious warning to Severus. After that day, I just couldn't hate Potter anymore. I still can and do think that he's an arrogant prick who deserves to be taken down a peg or two, but I can't hate him. Because I know what it's like to be that desperate, and I finally realised that when you hate someone, you wish them the worst. And I could never wish that feeling upon Potter."

Draco's eyes smouldered in the reflected firelight as he trailed off; the amber glow of the flames varying their colour from silver to bronze, and the ephemeral hues in between.

Harry felt as though he was lying exposed in the snow with an icy breeze screaming past him, so cold was every fibre of his body following Draco's assertion. His head was spinning with a multitude of tangled thoughts, each one more startling and impossible than the next.

_Draco doesn't hate me. How can this be?_

If there was one constant in Harry's erratic life, it was the knowledge that Draco Malfoy hated him. Now, that knowledge had been cruelly torn away from him with just a few choice words. Harry felt as though the only part of his life that had remained constant had just melted away into the eddying vortex of uncertainty that every other aspect of his existence had become long ago.

_This is what it feels like to have your world turned upside down._

Harry and Draco's gazes were locked, their faces only a few inches apart; it was unthinkable that either of them could look away and splinter the intensity of the moment.

To both boys, their uneven breathing seemed thunderously loud in the hushed room.

Still, the silence was deafening.

_**---**_

"_Shades of grey are all that I find  
When I look to the enemy line  
Black and white was so easy for me  
But shades of grey are the colours I see_

_Shades of grey wherever I go  
The more I find out the less that I know  
Black and white is how it should be  
But shades of grey are the colours I see__**"  
**_

_**---**_

_** The lyrics in this chapter are from 'Shades of Grey' by Billy Joel. Reviews make my soul sing, and my hands write faster :)**_


	7. Chapter 06

**_A/N: _**I'm sorry this chapter took so long to upload, rest assured that your lovely reviews really did make me write faster! I've just been insanely busy during the past few months. I've been on a skiing trip, sat some important exams and, of course, read DH and seen the new movie. Between all that, it's been hard finding time to write. Anyhow, I hope you enjoy this chapter! **  
**

**CHAPTER 06 – Trust**

_**--- **_

"_To get up and walk away would be too easy.  
So stay and stand your ground…_

_On the back of every right, there's a wrong looming.  
So here you and I should tread as soft as these razor blades for boots will let be._

_Have you ever tried to step in my shoes?  
Have you ever tried to balance that beam?  
And if you ever tried to fit in my shoes,  
They'll never be quite as soft as they seemed."_

_**---**__  
_

Brown eyes met grey, searching their unfathomable smoky depths. The firelight's deceptive glow flung shadows across Draco's face; his expression was unreadable. Harry had never pondered whether or not the eyes were truly the window to the soul, but he hoped to God right now that they were. His breathing shallow, Harry prayed for answers.

He wanted the answer to how the pale boy sitting opposite him could upset the only thing that Harry could hold onto with conviction. He needed to know why one person could make him so goddamn confused in only two days. Harry craved answers to questions that he didn't even realize he was asking.

His gaze fixated on Draco, Harry wanted to know why his heart was thrumming as if a hummingbird was caged inside him. He wanted to know why the world seemed blurry, yet Draco's face was dazzlingly clear. Most of all, he needed to understand why he felt like he was burning, but drowning in an icy storm.

Draco was unbelievably close. Every mark on his skin stood out; dustings of darkness against the creamy background. His breath ghosted over Harry's lips, the warm air an angel's kiss. The heat sweltering in his stare was overwhelming. Harry's eyes watered from the tense stand-off.

As the tension reached an unbearable climax, Harry heard a snide voice echoing in the recesses of his brain.

"_**No one asked for your opinion, you filthy little mudblood!"**_

The shock and puzzlement he had seen in Hermione's eyes flooded back, as did the blinding, unadulterated rage on Ron's face. The insult, though uttered so long ago, was still a nauseating memory. It was as effective as being slapped across the face and doused in freezing water simultaneously, and Harry came to his senses.

_This is Malfoy. I can't do this __with __**Malfoy**_

Blinking, he looked away and his heartbeat, though still frantic, calmed slightly. The electricity that had been sparking in the air fizzled to a quiet vibration. The exquisite pain searing through his body ebbed and he felt its loss.

Pins and needles prickling him, Harry tried to speak.

"I, you -"

The words emerged as a hoarse bark and he struggled to swallow. His throat felt as though a bowtruckle had crawled down it.

"Well, er, it sounds like you and Potter, have, er, a complicated relationship."

_Smooth, Harry._

What seemed like an eternity to his raw, agitated senses passed before Draco spoke.

"That's one way of putting it."

Draco's voice was as husky as Harry's had been; the low tones sending his heartbeat rocketing again.

_What the__ bloody hell is happening to me?_

The only emotions even mildly comparable to these were the ones he had felt for Cho last year. Fighting vainly to recall how his stomach had lurched whenever he saw her, Harry knew one thing for certain. No matter how much he was loath to admit it, those feelings had been nowhere near as painful or intense as the molten fire that was caressing his insides now.

Sudden, devastating terror gripped him as the implications of his attraction hit him like a dozen bludgers.

_I'm drunk. I'm not really feeling this._

Trying desperately to believe himself, Harry strove to keep the conversation flowing. His vocal cords seemed to be jammed with glue; speech seemed so inappropriate at the moment.

"Does Potter hate you?"

Try as he might, his voice still rasped with sensation.

"Do you hate me?"

The words were as calm as a lake on a windless day; completely devoid of any inflection or innuendo. It was impossible to surmise from the coolly assured speech that the torrid fever consuming Harry was also playing havoc with Draco; the blush on his cheeks was not from the snapping flames.

Harry's panic increased tenfold.

_How could he know? Of course he couldn't know, I'm being stupid. __There's no way..._

"Why would I hate you? I mean…oh bugger, I asked if Potter hated you, not me."

Something evasive flared in Draco's eyes, and then disappeared; a fanciful trick of the light. Ineloquent as Harry may have been, his words produced the desired result.

"Alright, I'll answer your question if you answer mine."

_How am I meant to think with him staring at me like that?_

"That, er…sounds fair. You can go first."

Although Harry was by no means one of the most pensive people you would ever meet, he still hated being put on the spot, as most people do, and wanted to avoid it at all costs.

"That's only reasonable, considering that you did ask me first."

A smirk threatened to cross Draco's lips, but never quite made it. Harry was sure that his heartbeat was far too loud, yet Draco didn't seem to notice. He was outwardly calm once more, the self-poise that Harry envied coming to his rescue.

"Does Potter hate me, you ask? I have no way of knowing, I can't read his bloody mind. I assume that he hates me, blind with self-righteousness as he is, but my own recent revelations, if you want to call them that, make me wonder…"

Harry waited for Draco to elaborate, but he seemed content with his answer and didn't continue.

_He's probably __sick of talking after that huge rant before._

Draco had been unusually talkative tonight, and was still just as articulate as he had been before they had started drinking. In the recesses of his mind, Harry knew that his words should be slurring and his brain fogged by the alcohol at this point. Quite to the contrary, however, he felt alert, coherent and his thoughts were as clear as ever.

_Something's not right._

An insistent, intangible thought had been nagging at him throughout the night. It had something to do with Potions, if he wasn't mistaken. Battling his slowly-returning lethargy, Harry thought he could recall Professor Snape lecturing the class about the nullifying properties of Veritaserum when mixed with alcohol shortly before their OWLs…

_**---**_

_Sweat trickled down Harry's neck as Snape's frosty gaze swept over him__, lingering for a minute before continuing its circuit of the room. Neville squeaked fretfully nearby, mere eye contact with the Professor too much for his tattered nerves. Snape thankfully ignored the sound, instead speaking in the dangerously silky tones the class had long ago learned to listen to._

"_This lesson will be highly informative for those of you who have succumbed to the latest student craze of__ liquor-assisted party games such as the ever-popular and ever infantile 'Truth or Dare'. I suggest that you awaken those numbed brains and pay attention." _

_Harry saw a smug smirk cross Draco's face in his peripheral vision. Harry knew for a fact that the Slytherins hosted the most drinking games; it was no doubt amusing to Malfoy that they were having a lesson on it now. _

"_Thrilling as it undoubtedly may be, mixing Veritaserum with alcohol, as I am informed has become the common practice of late, can produce significant side effects. The Veritas root, as you are evidently unaware, is the key ingredient in the truth serum."_

"_When mixed with alcoholic substances, the root nullifies the haziness, headaches and impulsive __behaviour__ usually experienced when consuming an excess amount of liquor, hence the appeal. However, the alcoholic component is not without its own effects."_

"_When Veritaserum is added to liquor in a ratio that exceeds 1:4, the __longevity of the potion is increased. How much it increases by depends on how excessive the foolish person has been with their use of the Veritaserum, which, however pointless it may be to remind you, is also __**highly illegal**__."_

"_Dim-witted as most of you are, I hope that you can appreciate how unpleasant it would be if one of your little party games turned into a week of complete honesty. I'm sure none of you would survive."_

_The condescending sarcasm seeping out of Snape was enough to flood the dungeons._

"_Bit melodramatic, isn't he?" Ron whispered to Harry, digging him in the ribs. _

"_Give the man a break, Ron, this is probably the most exciting class he's taught in his whole life," Harry grinned, sniggering. _

"_Can you two please be quiet? This could be on our exam!" Hermione's reproving whisper carried in the unfortunately silent classroom. _

"_Miss Granger, seeing as you are incapable of listening to even the most basic information in silence, I must insist that you move. I'm sure Miss Bulstrode would be delighted to have your company for the rest of the lesson."_

_Millicent cracked her knuckles menacingly and leered at Hermione from across the room, as Draco, Crabbe and Goyle snickered at their bench. _

_The guilt they felt as heat washed over Hermione's face and she moved timidly to Millicent's desk was sufficient to keep Harry and Ron silent for the rest of the lesson._

_**---**__  
_

_Oh shit._

Yes, that just about summed it up, thought Harry. He wasn't drunk at all, at least not in the conventional sense. There were no excuses anymore; he couldn't pass off his newfound-feelings as the product of a liquor-induced haze. There were no barriers left to shelter behind.

"Uh, Charlie? Charlie, are you there?"

"Huh? Er, sorry, what were you saying?" Harry could feel the crimson in his cheeks deepening with every word.

"I was saying, when you obviously weren't listening, that I believe it's your turn to answer the question. If your answer isn't satisfactory, my vengeance will be swift and merciless."

Harry gulped, hoping that Draco was kidding. It was impossible to know with the firelight and his shimmering eyes and their close proximity…

"Charlie! We're going to be here until Christmas if you don't hurry up and spit it out."

"Er, right, sorry. Do I hate you? Frankly, that's one of the stupidest questions anyone has ever asked me."

Draco's eyes widened, and Harry couldn't help smiling.

_Weren't expecting that, were you?_

"Do you understand what it truly means to hate, Draco? I don't think you do."

"Hatred is like a cancer that boils up over a long period of time; festering until it overwhelms you. Hatred is hearing somebody's name and being so repulsed by their existence that you want to throw up in disgust. Hatred is an emotion so powerful that you could kill without feeling the slightest remorse for what you've done."

"Hatred is what destroys the greatest of minds. I've seen the corruption for myself. If you let hatred consume you, you'll go mad."

Draco was drawing ragged, hitching breaths now. His body was visibly trembling.

"So, you see, Draco, that's why your question was a stupid one. Why would I invest so much time and energy into hating someone who I barely know, and who's never done anything to hurt me? I feel sorry for you, if you mistrust people so deeply that you think that a boy your own age would hate you for no reason. Nobody should feel that way, ever."

Harry was now experiencing the same respiratory difficulties as Draco, hardly believing the words that had come out of his mouth.

They were the truth, he knew. He had felt the Veritaserum illuminating his way, nudging at the edges of his answer to ensure that he stayed on the path of honesty. Yet the words had flowed freely out of him; they had been entirely his own.

He had truly believed what he was saying; and belief was a rare and glorious thing.

"Have you ever hated anyone that much, Charlie?"

The emotion in Draco's voice brought with it a startling realization that Harry had actually touched the boy with his words.

_The surprises just keep on coming, don't they?_

He didn't think about his answer before replying.

"Only one person. The person who murdered my parents and gave me a life I never wanted -"

With a sudden burst of startling clarity, Harry saw Bellatrix's laughing face as Sirius fell backwards through the gently rippling veil, leaving Harry and everything he had left unsaid behind.

"- Scratch that. I've only ever hated two people that much."

Draco obviously sensed that Harry didn't want to talk about the second person and all was quiet for a few moments before he spoke again.

"Well, if you have so much of yourself lost in hatred of two people, then I think that it's me who should be the one feeling sorry for you."

The words hit Harry like a cannonball. Draco, feeling sorry for him? Harry guessed that later, after he'd had a while to mull the day's events over, the previous statement would strike him as poignant and profound. But for the moment, it was all he could do not to lose control of his emotions completely.

Fighting back the sudden tears that were threatening to blur his vision in a watery glaze, Harry made a valiant effort to look anywhere but at Draco.

This was too much for the Slytherin. Any remaining vestiges of self-control vanishing, Draco spoke in a voice unlike any Harry had ever heard.

"Can I trust you, Charlie?"

His speech was tremulous, and so uncertain, and Harry could practically hear him screaming out for reassurance, for somebody to tell him that everything would be ok. He thought that that voice might just be enough to break his heart.

"Why wouldn't you -" Harry began, before Draco cut him off.

"No, Charlie. I mean it, can I really trust you? Can I honestly, 100, no-holds-barred, **trust** you?"

If Draco's voice had been enough to break Harry's heart, the desperate longing for truth he saw in the boy's eyes was enough to ensure that the pieces could never be put back together again.

Harry opened his mouth to answer, but the words never quite made it, because at that moment he did the only thing that could possibly be right.

His brown eyes connected with Draco's grey ones for one brief, perfect instant and the flash of hope he saw swell in them was so beautiful he thought he just might cry after all.

The moment of connection broke, and for half an instant neither of them moved. Harry's chest was pounding so painfully he thought he may have stopped breathing. Then, his lips brushed Draco's so gently it could have been his breath exploring their softness, and they were so close, closer than he had ever been to anyone before…

He didn't care that he had never kissed a boy before; he didn't care that this was _Malfoy, _his childhood nemesis; he didn't care that this was insane; he didn't care that nobody would understand.

As they moved to deepen the kiss, their foreheads bumped together. Shrinking back, they looked at each other for a moment before Draco smiled and closed the distance once more.

It was so much better than Harry had ever thought a kiss could be. The clumsy tonsil-hockey he had played with Cho last year was nothing, _**nothing **_compared to how this made him feel.

As Draco shivered beneath him and opened his mouth so slightly, Harry didn't care that he of one year ago would have been disgusted by what was happening. His tongue slid forward to tentatively intertwine with Draco's, wet heat colliding in a heady rush. He was unprepared for the intensity of it; gasping, he drew back.

Draco stared at him, lips slick and flushed, and Harry knew that he couldn't stop now. Leaning forwards and letting his eyes fall shut, their lips met again. Their mouths began to dance together, teeth and tongues and lips melding and twisting in an increasingly passionate duet.

One of his hands had become entangled in Draco's hair. Harry had expected it to be like silk to the touch, but it was just a little rough; exciting to run his fingers through. The other was at Draco's back, tracing spider webs on his spine. Harry could feel each of his bones under his palm, solid fragments underneath the smooth skin.

As Draco's clever tongue became bolder in its exploration of Harry's mouth, Harry couldn't help the muffled cry that escaped him. How could anybody hold this moment against him when every fibre of his being was telling him that this was perfect; **this** was what made life amazing?

_What the hell have I been missing out on?_

Both boys were rapidly losing themselves in the intensity of the kiss, gasping and arching involuntarily as it deepened. The rhythm of their mouths moving together, the feel of their hands entwined in the other's hair, the sharp heat of their bare skin against each other…

_No. __You've got to stop now. _

It was too much, they were moving too fast and Harry couldn't let it happen. There were some places that he just wasn't prepared to go.

"No. No, Draco, I -"

Draco ignored him, instead beginning to lick a pathway down the side of Harry's suddenly hyper-sensitive neck. The touch of his tongue on Harry's skin burned like fire; then the air whispered over it and a trail of goose bumps marked the moist trail.

_God, that felt so __**good**__…_

"Draco, no!"

As their lips lingered for one last, fleeting moment, Draco sighed against his mouth and Harry felt a new sympathy for lovers parting ways. If he felt this way about kissing Draco, how must they feel kissing the person they loved the most in the world goodbye? How could they ever let go?

With an almost superhuman effort, Harry managed to pull himself away from the blissful forgetfulness of the past few minutes and the new, tantalising feel of Draco's mouth on his.

"Draco, I can't. It's too soon, I'm not ready, I -"

How Draco would be able to speak with his mouth so swollen, Harry couldn't know. He guessed that his own was just as inflamed.

"It's ok, Charlie. I get it. We can just go slowly."

The spark of hope he saw in the boy's face made the thought of Harry taking his trust and abusing it, as he would have to do so soon, even more sickening.

"Right. Well, I don't know about you, but I'm buggered. We should probably turn in for the night."

Now that he thought about it, he really was exhausted.

"I guess you're right. I'll just be going back to my cabin, then."

It was pitch-black outside, and as much as Harry didn't need the close proximity, he couldn't let Draco go wandering alone in the snow.

"Don't be an idiot, it's pitch-black out there. You can sleep in my Uncle's room; he won't be coming back for a few days, at least."

"Well, if you're sure…"

"I'm sure. Now go to sleep!"

"Goodnight, Charlie."

"Night, Draco."

As Draco walked to the door of his room, he turned back towards Harry and seemed to linger on the precipice of speech. Harry found himself intensely curious as to what more he could possibly have to say.

He would not find out tonight, though, for the next instant Draco had turned on his heel, and the door shut with a gentle click.

_**---**_

Draco leaned against the doorway and exhaled; a shuddering, shaking breath that did little to dispel the frantic waves of need surging through his body.

His head was filled with quicksand, coherent thought slipping further away the more he struggled for it.

_What did I just do?_

He'd revealed some of his most closely-guarded secrets. He'd let himself get carried away by the thrill of something new, something exciting. He'd gotten too close to this perfect stranger in the hope that Charlie could somehow change the way his life was heading. Now, Draco knew that he would pay the price. Hell, he was already paying.

Draco wasn't an idiot; he had felt the Veritaserum nudging him along the path of truth. He knew that Charlie had spiked their Firewhisky; he knew that the other boy wanted something from him.

Intrigued as he was about what Charlie could possibly want from him, Draco knew that tonight he hadn't made much of an effort to find out. He had accepted that the unremarkable, soft face of the boy sitting near him was hiding somebody with an agenda.

And still, he had opened up to him, revealed more than was required to satisfy the truth serum. To have an excuse to be truthful with somebody made his body sizzle with life. With the weight of his impending, largely-unknown task tainting everything Draco did, he needed to feel as though there was somebody who would understand.

He needed somebody to trust.

He had asked Charlie if he could trust him, barely even realizing why he needed that trust so badly. The look that he had seen in those eyes had been crying out to him, as if begging him not to probe too far. Then Charlie had kissed him, and it had been brilliant, and for a moment there was nothing to feel except another warm, human body against his.

Now, he was pressed against a cold wooden door with only his muddled thoughts for company. He shouldn't be here, he shouldn't have done any of this and his father was going to be _so _angry.

After all of the secrets that had been exposed that night, all the feelings that had been shared, Draco should feel as though he knew Charlie.

Yet the only thought that truly registered as he sank onto the bed was that he had asked Charlie a question. He had bluntly asked him whether he could trust him, and he had never received his answer.

_**---**_

His pyjamas felt like heaven against his skin as Harry climbed into bed. The whisper of his sheets was a comforting murmur, soothing his racing emotions.

Staring up at the ceiling, he imagined he could hear Draco's rhythmical breathing in the room next to his.

Exhaustion and stimulation battled with each other, two opposites fighting for domination. Much the same as he and Draco, or so Harry used to think.

He couldn't be sure of anything as he lay there, almost unbearably confused.

Harry tried to think of how important this task was. He tried to imagine everyone who could live because of the information he had to obtain.

Much as he tried to imagine, reality was impossible to ignore. The look on Draco's face when he had asked if Harry was trustworthy was as desperate as any he had ever seen.

"_Can I trust you?"_

It was the one question he wished Draco hadn't asked.

A sickening wave rose to his stomach as he thought about what he had just done. Draco had asked him just one question. A simple question with a simple answer.

It was _too_ straightforward; the Veritaserum had been nagging him to answer the way he knew he must. And then they had kissed, and the word had strained to be released from his mouth. It had bubbled to the surface like a poisonous barb, a stinging reminder that he _couldn't_ be trusted.

"_No. No, Draco, I -"_

There was Draco's answer, disguised in a neat package. No, Draco couldn't trust him. No, he wasn't doing the right thing. It seemed to Harry, in his current state, that all he had ever done was hurt those that trusted him.

Ron, Hermione, Neville, Luna, Ginny. They had all trusted Harry; they had all followed him to the Ministry against their better judgement. Sirius had trusted Harry not to do anything stupid; he had begged him to stay out of trouble. Dumbledore had trusted Harry to work hard at Occlumency; he had spent countless hours impressing upon Harry the importance of closing his mind.

They had all trusted him; they had all believed that he would do the right thing. And what had he done with that trust? Harry the Fucking Hero had led his friends straight into a death trap and killed Sirius. He had watched as the light in Sirius's eyes was extinguished, seen his limp body fall through the fluttering veil. He was grateful every day that the other five had survived.

Draco couldn't be the next one. Nobody else was going to die because they placed their faith in a teenage boy who had never wanted to be a hero. Screw the mission, screw Dumbledore, screw Voldemort. It was too hard. There was only so much pressure he could take. Harry made up his mind at that moment. To this God-forsaken mission, he was saying no.

_**---**_

'"_Unabashed honesty would be ideal,  
But a prophet did once say that honesty is a lonely word.  
So where do we go from here... Abandon ship now?  
My problem is you make me melt,_

_And I don't want to be frozen anymore."_

_**---**_

_**A/N: **_The lyrics in this chapter are from 'Have You Ever' by Incubus. I'm debating whether or not to continue this story, since JK used a major concept that I had planned for BI in Deathly Hallows. I'll probably keep at it with some plot revision, but if I think that the story won't be the same then I won't continue it. It would break my heart to do that, though, so please review and convince me that I should stick with this until the end.


End file.
